when it hurts to move, and why I might be dressed as Luigi

Moving hurts. Physically and mentally. Being pulled out of what is comfortable and familiar and lead into something new, something not quite known, something that while exciting, simultaneously feels like an enormous question mark strapped to your shoulders, has the tendency to shake doubt and fear to the surface. And the entire process feels endless and exhausting.

There is still stuff at the other house. Stuff, and a tremendous mess. We moved on the coldest day ever, and dragged boxes and tired aching bones through feet of snow. We were maneuvering pets and children and trying to keep things feeling as normal as possible while in truth, nothing was. From dog to child, we were uprooted, and pulling roots can be strenuous work that doesn't feel so good even if you know you will be planted in better soil in the long run. I feel like my entire body has been beaten with a mallet. Which is fine, I suppose, if being beaten with a mallet is your thing.

And so here we are. New house. New beginning. New noises. New appliances. I can not figure out the light switches, and continue to turn on the ceiling fans. I just realized I cannot pack any school lunches because all of the plastic food containers are at the old house. Yesterday I could not find clothes for Luke for Mass, other than his entire Luigi from Mario Brothers Halloween costume. Seriously. Dress pants no where to be found. Shoes, Lord knows where. But Luigi jumpsuit, hat and gloves? Got those!

My New Years resolution to respond like Mary was certainly tested during these last few days. I think I packed my trust with Luke's church clothes...nowhere to be found. Trust is hard, don't you agree? I mean, I can repeat, "Jesus, I trust in You" all I want...but do I mean it? Do I feel it? Is it as tangible and felt as that enormous question mark I feel the weight of resting upon my shoulders? Because that question mark? That is my lack of trust. That is my, "Is this truly where you want to lead me Lord, because I am just not so sure because good grief, but it sort of feels like a lot, not to mention kind of impossible and so not fun." That question mark is my will winning over my God's will, my believing my ways are going to be better (and better by the way, simply means less painful) even though we all know, no pain no gain.

But I want no pain all gain.

And so truthfully? I should be working on my book right now. I have five more chapters to write by February first, and am still in the hard moving process. And not just my home. There is lots of life moving happening. There is lots of God pulling, it appears...on me, my husband, my children. Lots of trust required. In other words, lots of needing to gracefully accept all, if I am going to surrender to His will and let Him lead. Because if I believe that His ways are higher than mine, and His thoughts higher than mine, then I can believe that the only food I need is to do His will so that I can finish this work that He has given specifically to me. But to do this? To respond like Mary, in faith? I need to first listen.

And I am way better and talking than listening.

"You do not ask for a sacrifice and offerings, but an open ear, You do not ask for holocaust and victim. Instead, here am I." (Psalm 40:7)

Oh, man, how I read this and melt into something that feels like a lost pillow I have been dying to rest my weary head on.

An open ear.

That is all He asks, sweet friends.

An ear open enough to hear and to respond.

To follow His lead, no matter how crazy the path appears, and to trust that His way will be food enough to keep us strong until the work is complete.

And sometimes? Sometimes I really hate the work He has given me. Like right now? I would love a change in my job description. Because He has me doing some moving that I feel too small for. Literally. And metaphorically. And I question the things that happen around me. Like the snow storm on moving day. Or the dog getting out at the new house and running through the woods until disappearing. Or my husband locking the keys in the car when we had an appointment with the cable guy. Or the internet not working, which with four kids, is like having no heart beat. Or the heat that wasn't working and the leaking the pipe and the fact that I could see my breath inside of the house . All mixed in with the anxieties and tension and extraordinary moods of people big and small who all tend to come to me for venting, soothing, and calming. And I feel anything but soothing and calming myself. I feel like I am on a path of suffering that I have yet to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I think I see it. I think there is a flickering brightness. And then I get there, and find more darkness to navigate through, and so the frustration and doubt crush me because honestly Lord, to what end? Throw me a bone, would ya?

But I read this morning that, "Son though he was, he learned obedience from what he suffered." (Hebrews 5:8) and again, it is that pillow I have been searching for--that is what His Word is to me---That soft place to land after days of hard landing. And so with the help of Him, and a cup of coffee, I am gradually threading his Word together this morning to create a game plan...the Psalm reminders of having an open ear, and doing His will to complete the work given...of learning to be obedient not by easy pain free times, but rather by what He allows me to suffer through. That no pain no gain. And so I bow my head and I pray, "Grant me Lord the courage to follow where you lead me."

In all of the chaos of the last few days I had woken up surprised to find that today is the Feast Day of the Baptism of the Lord. In my old home, my prayer spot was right in front of a beautiful painting of John baptizing Jesus. I have no idea where that picture is right now. I thought about getting up and looking for it, but honestly, I have a better chance of praying dressed like Luigi. So I stayed put surrounded by boxes and poured over my devotional, circling words like "beloved" and "begotten", underlining verses like, "For the love of God is this, that we keep His commandments. And his commandments are not burdensome, for whoever is begotten by God conquers the world. And the victory that conquers the world is our faith. Who indeed is the victor over the world but the one who believes that Jesus is the Son of God?" (John 5:3-6)

And truly, I should be working on my book not my blog. No offense. But I don't have a contract with you. I have one with Our Sunday Visitor.

But I also have a contract with God.

By my own Baptism.

By the tearing apart of the heavens and my being anointed His Beloved.

By the sealing of the Holy Spirit in me, and the work that God has created for me.

But to write this book....this book about being victorious over the daily battle...I have to first listen.

I have to open my ear to HIS Word before attempting to write my own.

I have to devour this food He gives me believing it is enough.

And I have to respond accordingly, keeping His commandments, and following His lead, even when the moving forward feels hard.

If I want to be victorious, I need to allow Him to lead.

And interestingly enough, I dreamt last night that I ran into a dog that looked just like mine, but wasn't. And when I asked the owner its name, she told me, "Her name is lead." And I believe this is no coincidence and can only safely assume that God knows that the only way to get through to me is when I am sleeping and cannot talk over Him. I think my ear is most open when my mouth is shut and eyes are closed. Because I think of myself as a leader...and so letting go of the reigns and allowing myself to be lead is not easy. But perhaps if I surrendered completely (because really, I am a master at surrendering partially) the moving and the pulling that is happening right now would not feel so painful. Instead of clinging to that familiar question mark that is nothing but burden, maybe today will be the day I give it up fully, opening my ears, and agreeing to follow the path of uncertainty despite only that small flickering light. Maybe today is a good day to recall my own baptism, to live as His beloved, to say "here am I."

Today, Lord, I pray that I have enough grace and just the right amount of coffee to let you lead, even when the moving hurts.