East Coast Tears

Descent into Baltimore

Yesterday we arrived safely on the East Coast, the first leg of our journey completed. Fifteen bags and three children accounted for, we met the end of a winter day with hunger, relief, and fatigue from inactive bodies that woke long before a West Coast sunrise.

I invited Beth to come jump rope with me this morning. She was elated at the prospect and quickly donned the hat and gloves necessary to be comfortable on a December morning in Maryland. We haven’t skipped together in a long time so we kinda sucked at it, but I brought our ropes because they pack small and the thought of them holds nostalgia of childhood joy.

We hopped down the block. It wasn’t long before she got a cramp and my ankle scowled up at me, asking why we were hitting the cement with our entire body weight for fun. After consoling my aging ankle with new body hope (Philippians 3:20-21),  we walked slowly back to the house.

Zac came out of the purple front door of the brick house we are staying at, eyes to the ground; palpable feelings of sadness filled his puffy little cheeks. He cried a lot this morning. Some tears from annoyance with his sisters, some from the pain of being disciplined after inappropriately reacting to that annoyance, some just poured out of his heart because they followed the current of feelings that most five-year-olds don’t know how to process when leaving home. Crying is actually a good response in my opinion. I haven’t allowed myself to cry as often as I have felt the desire to. My upbringing tells me that it’s inconvenient and counterproductive. Crying may hold these attachments, but tears are important and I would argue even a necessary part of processing this transition in a healthy, balanced and productive manner. The doctors think so too. These tears mark the significance of what has been left behind. These tears call to and require a faith that hopes in things not yet seen.

Beth exploring a climbing structure

We piled into the van and drove to the park as a family. On the way home, Beth would not stop whining about how cold her hands were, even though she had access to gloves and refused to put them on. She whined so much that she earned herself a timeout with mom on the side of the road. It was such an abrupt pullover that Eric had to drive away and meet us elsewhere so as to not impede traffic. I told her that if she didn’t stop whining, she would lose the stick she had found at the park. The thought of losing one more thing broke her. She balled. I held her. We prayed. We asked the Holy Spirit to comfort us, strengthen us, be with us and help us through this tough transition. We hugged, she got to keep her stick (for now), and we headed back to the house.

Everyone keeps asking us how we’re doing. I love it. I hate it. It’s what I want and don’t want equally. I need to be cared for this way. We need to know that we are still loved even when we are not physically close to our people. The truth is that we’re not ok, but we are. We are broken and sad, crying and missing home. But we are trusting God in this and He is guarding our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus as we continue to come to Him for help just as He promised He would. He is giving us peace amidst our sorrow and holding us in His arms each time we call and ask Him to. He is faithful. He is a Good Father.

Philippians 4:6-7 NLT

“Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything; tell God your needs and don’t forget to thank him for his answers. If you do this you will experience God’s peace, which is far more wonderful than the human mind can understand. His peace will keep your heart and your thoughts quiet and at rest as you trust in Christ Jesus.”

Or The Message Remixed puts it this way:

“Don’t fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, everything going together for good, will come and settle you down. It’s wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life.”

We have seen his faithfulness to provide for us. We have seen him take care of us in difficult things in the past. He is not a different God even though our circumstances may feel different or overwhelming right now. It’s ok to cry to Jesus. He, more than most, can relate. He definitely knows what it feels like to leave home.

We are putting our faith into practice. We are praising Him for what He’s given us in both spiritual and physical comfort even though our feelings are washing over us in inconsistent waves. We are coming to Him in prayer. We are trusting and believing that He is who He says He is. We are holding each other and constantly redirecting our hearts and minds back to our Risen Savior. Thank you for your prayers as we continue this journey together.

Eric consoling Zac after an episode of crying.

Other random (some important some not) tid bits:

• Beth got ONE (not two) ears pierced Monday. It suits her. She’s fierce and fearless and she is willing to set a quick boundary to limit pain beyond what is absolutely necessary. After the first jab, she decided that was enough.

• I watched “Past Lives” on the plane. Loved it. I cried. Eric didn’t see it but he would hate it and be so bored -- let that help you decide whether or not to watch it.

• I finished a book on the plane: "Gay Girl, Good God" by Jackie Hill Perry - highly recommend.

• I have the best siblings - they really carried us through our last week and are still cleaning up after us in the wake of our departure.

• My siblings-in-law aren’t too shabby either here in Maryland. Their hospitality is easygoing and it helps that their home is so stinking cute and charming.

• What I’m listening to tonight: Lion|Lamb by Joshua Leventhal (ug-SO GOOD!!)