I originally wrote this post at the end of July 2020. It all felt just too fresh and raw and real to share at the time. There were still so many unknowns surrounding our next steps. And if I’ve learned anything from Brené Brown, it’s that I don’t share anything until my healing is no longer dependent on the response to it.
But as I combed my drafts tonight, it feels right to share this post now. I have felt more whole in the months since I wrote this than I have in years. I know with full certainty that we were put exactly where we were needed exactly when we were needed. And I believe the same to be true now, in this new season of our lives.
So I say to you, if you’ve ever waded through a season of painful unknowns, or maybe you’re there right now, this post is for you.
I was at my desk hustling to finish work in time to make it to my normal yoga class when my husband appeared in the doorway. “So, uhm. I just lost my job.”
I stared blankly at him, my blood running cold. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard those words from my husband’s mouth. We just couldn’t seem to shake this unfair dark cloud. And once again, just like the last time, I was thrusted into out-of-character calmness. “Okay,” I said. “Okay. We’ll figure it out.”
Within just a few days, J had a new job and we received our lease renewal information. Charlotte was a lot of things: beautiful, fun and most importantly ridiculously expensive. A booming city meant landlords could jack up prices for seemingly no reason. “I don’t want to stay here,” I told my husband. “I just feel like it’s time for us to move on.”
We decided not to renew, hopeful we’d figure out our next steps in due time. A few days later, we learned that J’s new job had serious need in their Raleigh office. “I think you should go,” our good friend who was now one of Jonathan’s coworkers told us. “It would likely be temporary, but it would give you the chance to get some important, hands on training that we just can’t offer here in the Charlotte office.”
Temporary. “Okay,” I said. “Let’s do it.” I couldn’t put my finger on why at the time, but I just felt something pulling us home. Raleigh is our hometown. It’s where we both grew up. It’s where both of our mothers live and a handful of our siblings. “We can stay at Mom’s until we know where we need to land more permanently.”
So, with plans in place, we packed up our home and said farewell to the city we called home for 6 of our 9 married years. But this time, unlike the last, it felt right. It felt like it was time. J single-handedly unloaded all our earthly possessions into my mom’s basement, and we set up a mini “apartment” on her second floor, complete with our own bed.
But it didn’t take long for the thoughts to creep in. The thing is, we often fall victim to the stories we tell ourselves about a situation. And let me just tell you, your imagination can run wild with a story that involves you moving into your mother’s house at the ripe old age of 32. And for some reason, failure and embarrassment were the leading characters in that story even though I knew it not to be true. To put it lightly, I was struggling.
I’m the kind of person who takes pride in her space and who prefers, above all else, to be in the comfort of her own home. And while abundantly grateful for the soft place to land temporarily, I was eager and desperate to accelerate the timeline. And then something bizarre and unexpected happened. Football suddenly re-entered our lives after 4 long mostly football-less years. Every plan we had in place upheaved and my urgent desire to get our own place was squashed. There would be no moving until the end of the season, when we knew more about what comes next.
It’s hard to admit this, but I felt trapped. I was desperate to find a place to call our own, and while we technically could, despite everything, I knew it simply didn’t make sense. And without my permission, I sunk into a depressed state. I know there’s a lot to be said for perspective and gratitude, but my selfish tendencies were being challenged and I was not okay. “I know I’m supposed to be learning something here,” I told a friend. “And who knows, maybe God needs us here for some reason.”
And then, with one single phone call and four simple words, everything changed.
My mom was sick. There would be doctor’s appointments and treatment plans and surgery and and and. Now, on the other side of all of that, nearly a year removed, I’m happy to report that she’s just fine–like nothing ever even happened–but it was a lot at the time. And it was in that moment, in the aftermath of that startling news, that J and I knew deep down in our bones that God broke our hearts to put us here. We were needed, undoubtedly.
But you see, it’s hard to know and understand that in the midst of heartbreak is purpose. Sometimes we get let in on that secret, the great purpose revealed. Other times the only purpose is to protect us from something we’ll never see.
In the year plus that we’ve been here, purpose or not, we’ve been offered little gifts. Tiny little slivers of hope and happiness that we otherwise wouldn’t have had. And one of those things has been football and the community of the school that comes with it. Knowing my husband is able to finally get back to what he loves and what he’s so good at is a gift all in itself. Had we not been at Mom’s, the opportunity would have been something we probably would have passed on. But it was precisely this opportunity that kept us at Mom’s beyond the summer. Had football not suddenly re-entered our lives like a beautifully wrapped, long awaited gift, we would have already moved out when we got the call.
I tell you this story because I know we’re all in the midst of it all these days. I won’t lie and say we’re out of it. There are still so many unknowns that factor into our ability to decide when we’ll leave Mom’s. But I will say that despite it all, there can be beauty in the brokenness. And though your heart may be breaking right now, please hold fast to hope.
If you’ve spent any length of time in this space, you’ll know that my verse of life is Romans 12:12: Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction and faithful in prayer.
And as J and I navigate into the next phase of what our lives will look like, I’ve been repeating that verse like a mantra, a small, quiet comfort in the mess of an anxious mind.
But if I know one thing for certain: I can trust the process. God puts us exactly where we’re needed.
0 Comments