It was my hope that sometime during our recent family vacation at the beach we would receive information from the Navy that would tell us when exactly we would move. Instead, while standing in the hot sun in the ticket line at Sea World, we got a phone call letting us know the orders are coming, yes they are, they are just delayed. We do know a few general things about our move: we are moving to Annapolis; we will move in July; and we have a long drive ahead of us. We can’t schedule movers without the information we are waiting for. So we wait. And we are hourly aware of how much we are not in control.
We returned from a glorious, warm, sunshiney week at the beach to a broiling heat wave. It was 93 degrees as we drove to church this morning. I miss the beach.
The prism of knowing we are going to move throws colorful lights and winking shadows on the walls of my daily life. Driving around town, memories from the past thirteen years flash through my mind, the light of joy, the shadow of sorrow. At church, I linger longer than usual, noticing the shine and flash of the faces of my friends at church, wanting to remember his contagious laugh, her kind eyes, the way she always asks the right questions, his genuine smile.
I’ve been wondering why this long wait, why this strange place of knowing something is going to happen, but not knowing when. Today at church a friend and I comforted one another with the knowledge that, though we often aren’t told the reason, we can be confidant there is a reason.
And so in this time of waiting we have found amazing renters for our home here; we have located what looks to be the ideal house for us in Annapolis, with a wonderful owner who has been more than kind to us already. Good, loving homes have been found for three pets we have to leave behind, and we have had time to crate train our big dog that is accompanying us on our move. We are hosting sleepovers, sending our oldest to youth camp, fixing sprinklers and going through closets.
There is no wasted time. Everyday is a gift, shot through with His light. Even these dog days of summer when the not knowing feels a weighty load to bear.