What if we could recognize all of the small miracles of our day? The times He gives us the strength to get through an illness. A friend calling or texting us just when we are at our lowest point. A wave of peace amidst an incredibly stressful time.
There are two country songs that articulate this concept. "Unanswered Prayers" and "Bless the Broken Road".
In childhood we are taught at Sunday school that God will save us, protect us, heal us, and answer our prayers. But who are we as preschoolers, toddlers and teenagers to know what is truly best for our path?
When I met my husband almost 20 years ago I was a west coast native. Born and raised. Firmly planted. Beaches and sun. Palm trees and perfection. DH (dear husband) announced that his job would likely move us elsewhere. Far away from my west coast bubble of security. Away from friends I grew up with, went to college with, and spent evenings with, laughing and talking until after midnight.
I brushed aside his comment, insisting that our children needed to stay there at least until they were old enough to be more independent. Not need a babysitter if I had to run to the store. And old enough that their values and personalities were mostly established.
Approximately once every year or two the dreaded topic arose-"we will need to move one day. Or else my job will never go any further." Each time my heart sank to my toes and tears would fill my eyes.
Our family visited upstate New York each year to see DH's siblings, parents and the cousins. The first time we drove through the sprawling green countryside I was in awe. Unlike my home, this area had space between homes, lush flowers,berry patches, fireflies at night. It felt freeing and relaxing. For the first time in my life I vaguely considered what it would be like to live outside of the west coast.
Upon returning home, I looked out at the smog, the drying grass and the massive hoards of people at the airport. Although it was pleasant to get back to our house, a tiny piece of my resolve to dig my feet into this ground cracked. Nothing noticeable, and I quickly acclimated to life back in my community of school activities, Girl Scouts and sporting events. My friends would always be there, as well as our church which I had attended since kindergarten. Yes, I knew what was best for our family.
Each year that our family flew East, my perception of the ideal place to live changed a bit. There was something about the Earthy scent of trees and grass after a hard summer rain. The air felt less toxic. The people less hardened. The pace a bit slower. DH and I now dreamed of being a bi-coastal family one day. Living in the west during bitterly cold and cloudy January-April, then living in the East during seasons of vibrant flowers and dark green grass, along with the amazing views that changing colors bring in the fall. Finally, the first snow and being able to snuggle next to a fireplace or wrap a fluffy scarf around ones neck without sweltering like we did back home.
Still, no place besides home would have MY friends, MY parents and MY memories. The lump in my throat about moving one day was smaller, but nowhere near gone. I still (thought probably) that I knew best.
People I knew moved away. To Washington state, to Connecticut, to Texas, to Virginia. Over the holidays my Christmas card was usually a photo of the kids smiling faces in our back yard-always sunny in December. Now I began to notice photos of families by lakes, families in the heartland, new places I hadn't even considered. When talking about our lives I noticed that while my family was thriving, it felt as though they were missing out on new experiences and opportunities that we just could not give them in our current home. I didn't know our neighbors very well. We all sort of stayed to ourselves, occasionally (once in a decade?) asking to borrow an egg or a cup of sugar. But completely lacking a depth of relationships that I longed for in a neighborhood.
