moving on

The kids and I are moving to Saline on July 10. I've known since November that we would be moving in July, and the final details are almost in place now.

I promised myself long ago that I would do this move the right way - that I'd start 3 months ahead of time packing, purging, selling stuff on Craigslist. Of course, now I'm one month out and I've maybe packed one box.

I've spent many nights trying to get to sleep and worrying about how little I've done, and what a daunting task is ahead of me. I've turned on the TV and sat like a lump, while inside my head my organized, productive, efficient alter-ego screams at me to get off my butt and do something. I've made plans with friends on Tuesday nights when I had a babysitter, instead of taking advantage of the childless time to pack. I've complained and whined about having to do this all alone.

Like many other things in my life, this job will probably get done at the last minute, resulting in exhaustion and frustration for all concerned. The worst result of this won't even be the tiredness or disorganization, it will be that I won't have taken the care to bring only the things with me to the new house, that I really want to be there. The reality is that this move will happen no matter what I do (whether my stuff moves to the new house in garbage bags, or gets put out on the curb by the sheriff), and I am the only one who can make it happen the right way. I am determined to bring only love and new opportunities with me to that house, and to leave pain and tears and grief and crushed dreams behind. But the job isn't going to get done unless I just get down and do it.

Today I was reading "Praying Our Goodbyes," an amazing book by Joyce Rupp. I realized that all of the excuses and reasons I can give for not having done any of the work up to this point boil down to one simple fact: I am still not ready to let go. I haven't been able to drag that one remaining foot out of the past. The more I purge, donate or sell, the more of my memories I feel like I am going to lose, like someone ripping a security blanket out of my arms.

I need to change this pattern, and to treat this opportunity as the very great gift that I know it is. This job is not too big for me to handle! Please pray for my courage, and for me to finally be ready to say (and pray) my goodbyes.

***

I give you praise, God of my journey,
for the power of love, the discovery of friends, the truth of beauty
for the wonder of growth, the kindling of fidelity, the taste of transformation
for the miracle of life, the seed of my soul, the gift of becoming
for the taste of the littly dyings which have strengthened me for this moment
for the mystery of journey, the bends in the road, the pauses that refresh
for the faith that lies deep enough to permeate discouragement and anxiety

I give you thanks, God of my journey,
for all I have learned from the life of Jesus of how to say goodbye
for those who have always stood near me and given me spiritual energy
for your strength on which I can lean and your grace by which I can grow
for the desire to continue on, for believing that your power works through me
for being able to love so deeply, so tenderly, so truly
for feeling my poorness, my emptiness, my powerlessness
for believing that you will care for me in my vulnerability

I ask forgiveness, God of my journey,
for holding on too tightly
for refusing to be open to new life
for fighting off the dying that's essential for growing
for insisting that I must be secure and serene
for ignoring your voice when you urged me to let go
for taking in all the goodness but being reluctant to share it
for doubting my inner beauty
for resisting the truth of my journey home to you

I beg assistance, God of my journey,
to accept that all of life is only on loan to me
to believe beyond this moment
to accept your courage when mine fails
to recognize the pilgrim part of my heart
to hold all of life in open hands
to treasure all that is gift and blessing
to look at the painful parts of my life and to grow through them
to allow your love to embrace me on the empty and lonely days
to receive the truth of your presence
to trust in the place of "forever hello"
(Joyce Rupp)