“You Want Me to Be Your Voice of Reason?”

That was the question she asked when I called her and explained the stirring I had to start packing even though we hadn’t sold our house or bought a different home.

I was expecting her to tell me I was nuts, I needed to slow down, I need to not put the cart before the horse…

“Keep packing.” was her response instead.

…I was not expecting that.

It turns out, she was on to something. And not only was she my voice of reason, but she was a voice of prophetic wisdom into a situation I did not believe or trust would happen.

So I started packing. And now we’re moving.

It’s not that simple or seamless and as one might expect, there are a few snags we’ve hit along the home purchase journey. That said, however, my faith remains confident in the Lord’s leading this, and that He will work it out in the end, even if we have to struggle or suffer a little in the process.

And now there are two specific situations which have presented themselves I was not at all prepared for.

The first is: how do I move jars (and jars) of home-preserved food, and how do I move chickens and my favorite rooster, hundreds of miles across states?

This seems a little daunting. One is fragile due to copious amounts of glass, the other due to the need to eat and drink water (and constant defecation).

Another kicker – I’m not done canning just because we’re moving. Oh no. In a few weeks, I’ll have pickles to put up, chokecherry jelly to set, hopefully a few ripe tomatoes to do a batch of crushed tomatoes… things are ripening. The garden won’t take a break, so I won’t, either.

And just how does one work from home, can garden produce, pack, and move simultaneously? Not without going a little bit crazy, is my prediction.

Additionally, even if I’m being ultra stubborn, I hand-picked my rooster (and ended up with two additional surprise roos…) and my flock this year so we could breed our own chicks, and I’ve worked SO HARD to keep our rooster friendly, used to being held, used to being around us, etc. He’s coming with us.

And he’ll need a flock to protect and service, so at least some of the chickens are coming with us. But they don’t stop needing food or water (or relieving themselves of said indulgences) just because they’re road-tripping.

I think we’ve figured out a solution or two – I hope we have – but either way, it’s happening, folks.

The second is a little tougher. How do I reconcile moving hundreds of miles away from the one spot our daughter, Harlynn, has a claim to on this earth?

I went to the cemetery to visit her spot and was suddenly overcome by the realization I won’t be able to just jaunt across town to sit there. I know she’s not there, but her stone is. Her tiny pink casket is. Her purple metal flower is.

For the last seven-and-a-half years, I’ve gone to that spot. I’ve sat and watched the turkeys, the rabbits, the deer. I’ve visited the other babies’ spots nearby. I’ve had some reflection and even some worship right there at her little stone. At her one spot.

And now we’re moving, so those visits become fewer and further between.

Sometimes I’m logically, practically okay with it. Sometimes I’m emotionally, mentally wrecked by it.

But I know if I were to call my friend and have her be my voice of reason for this too, she’d tell me just to sit and feel it, no matter what “it” is.

So I will.

In between packing boxes of glass jars.

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