my song

So much of life

I want to own it all;

all the fullness, all the grace;

all the trials, all the changes,

the every-day.

I want to break free

of misconceptions, of lies that are strangling me

Help me own this now—

the here and now.

Help me face the doubts,

find You deeper there.

Stretch wide my heart

and the fences of my mind.

Preach over me

that you leave none behind.

Show me Your way of kindness

of strength

of love that doesn't break

and a home that is steady when I quake.

Let these scattered fragments of my days

come together

as a vessel to be filled.

Help me own this now—

the here and now.

Help me face the doubts,

find You deeper there.

Stretch wide my heart

and the fences of my mind.

Preach over me

that you leave none behind.

still

There’s something so sweet about this sudden stillness. 

I’m amazed 

as it was least expected. 

I was quaking with the chaos 

Moved to make motions for every demand

And working so diligently for the outcome

the order.

Little steps sang sweetly

but buried swiftly by the oncoming traffic—

get it done

it’s this, then that

I still don’t know how—

a steady stimulus

culminating into cries

I’m undone

Insufficient

Not enough

There’s always more.

I’m amazed

because, even though I often do,

He doesn’t ignore

He’s there

He’s always

He’s enough

He’s always more

And He persists though I prone to wander 

with the things

the demands

the makings of our “days”

He’s there softly saying

through the pressures and pains

“You can’t.

I can.

Be still.

Be mine.”

And it’s that easy to come

when you know He’s not expecting

Not wanting you to sweep up the mess

and make some kind of majesty

All He wants is the simple askance 

for mercy

To take in His delight

that never wavered 

though you did

The love that always stayed

when you left

The peace that never changed

when you quaked

So I came. 

And when I least expected

I drank up the awe

I soaked in with singing

This desire to just be

the miracle house

And so the adventure continues!

The same day we “landed” on “it’s a boy!” in this game of life, we also made it here: “buy a house.” It was quite a day, bustling out of my ultrasound with the newly discovered boy brewing, to see the house that basically stepped out of my dream Pinterest board into reality. This crazy story is one for the books; one of those thousands of books that couldn’t even contain all of God and His good deeds (see John 21:25).

Rewind to Friday evening, the day previous: I had been idling away the day checking and rechecking the home sites for anything, SOMETHING new to pop up on my search. I had seen 10 houses in the course of four or five days and nothing met the bill. Literally. They were all priced way too high for the needs and improvements required to call the place “home.” I knew God could make it happen: bring us a home within our budget that would meet our needs. But I had readjusted myself to the idea of something that would need more updating and work. It seemed inevitable and I was okay with that. Merely the idea of a place to call and make my own excited and inspired me.

After a day of nothing, my friend texted me a newer listing. I think I had even glanced by it in my searches initially thinking the area of town would be off. But I opened the link. I found myself flipping through photos of one of the most tastefully put-together, updated, craftsman-style homes that I could even think possible in this town. But what I could never imagine was that it fit right in our price-point! On the edge of my seat, I immediately texted our realtor knowing we had to see this house ASAP; it was not going to last long on the market. She was out for the evening so I knew I may not hear back from her until later. Danny came home that evening and I eagerly showed him this miracle-house. We waited to get a response from our realtor about setting up a time to view it.

Then I got an unexpected text from yet another friend: Jenny. I had just texted her a day or two previous that Danny and I had begun our house-hunt. She was contacting me to say that her dear friend and her family were selling their house for which she shared the listing link. It was the EXACT. SAME. HOUSE. My excitement couldn’t peak more, until she responded again saying that that very friend WAS SITTING ACROSS THE ROOM FROM HER. I eagerly told Jenny to relay to her, “I want to see her house!” Her friend’s husband was the agent for their own home and we were able to set up a time the next morning to see it before the other four showings (eek!) Once our realtor responded we got it all settled to meet the next day.

Adding to the backstory: our friends Jenny and Phil had moved down to Medford right before we ventured down there back in 2011. They set us up with our apartment there and were basically our sole acquaintances upon making the excursion to Oregon. When we became carless, Jenny helped us get around. Jenny and Phil had bought a beautiful, older home in Medford that they were remodeling and Danny helped them with some of the work early on. Part of that “reno” involved gutting and building a brand new kitchen. It turned out so beautiful with white cabinets, white quartz countertops, Jenny’s fun, vintage decor and touches, and beautiful lighting from the big window above the sink. Jenny and Phil, their family, were part of God’s sovereign hand going before us on our Oregon adventure.

Because of Phil’s work, their family later moved away from Oregon to a new state. I didn’t even know if we’d see them again. It was pretty wild when, in the midst of our then “new” discussion to move back to Spokane, Jenny contacted me with the news that they had moved back to Spokane themselves!

We haven’t always kept in touch perfectly, but it’s so funny how God weaves them into our lives at the most pivotal times. When Jenny shared about her friend’s home, she added to the crazy story; while they had been remodeling their kitchen in Medford, her dear friend (miracle-house’s homeowner) was simultaneously redoing her’s. They would bounce ideas off each other and picked similar finishes based on their akin tastes. Funny how when I first viewed the home, I thought of Jenny and her tastes, her Medford kitchen. Hearing her connection to it all later just floored me. Who could do this but God?

Jenny shared more about her friend and her family. They lived in this house with their four kids, and (if I have the details correct) this gal had actually grown up two doors down where her mom still currently lives. The homeowners are actually only moving around the block to a bigger home! The family that lives across the street are Christians who homeschool their young kids and had been praying fervently for their new neighbors to be Christians as well. It was all rather remarkable. (Crazier still is when we happened to see the guy in passing only to discover he’s a guy Danny worked with at Red Robin who also went to high school with Danny’s older sister. Could this get nuttier!?)

That night I couldn’t sleep. I knew there wasn’t any guarantee that this would be our home. But I was in tears of joy; disbelief that God would even put something this wonderful in our path at all. It was the anticipation of Christmas morning on steroids. I was getting to see my baby, know the gender, and step into a potential dream home… all in one morning.

When we saw the house, it was even more than I expected. The rooms were beautiful. The natural light was amazing. The cellar basement had been so cleaned up and put together for storage; it boasted a newer furnace, showed off the new plumbing and electrical. There was even a beautiful, big play set in the fully-fenced backyard. How could we not move forward with this home?

Another offer was already made before we could even blink. We knew there could likely be more over the course of the day. We offered our best (which wasn’t a whole lot higher than the asking price as is.) Based on the hard evidence, it looked like a slim chance for us to come out for the win. We had to trust God in moving forward with our max offer, knowing he would continue to be the provider for this next big adventure. He has never failed us. Ever. And we waited.

Those 48 hours contained the full spectrum of emotions; from excitement and disbelief, to panic, to second-guessing, then peace. I was plugging away on pure adrenaline and praying for continued wisdom and guidance. The next day we found out our offer was likely to fall short of the others. So we waited. I knew that if God wanted us to have this home he would tell the homeowners. I knew that they would be talking to Him about it all too. It was all His.

Our realtor texted me saying she’d like to talk when Danny and I had a chance. I didn’t know for sure what it would be about; maybe something else came up with the offers that she wanted to discuss? When Danny got home we called her. She then shared that ours was not the highest offer. Okay. We probably didn’t get the house. Alright. But then she went on to say that the homeowners accepted our offer anyways! Wow. God. Only Him. We didn’t even know how to process…

Later that night, after attending a Super Bowl party at our friend’s, we drove down the road to pass by this miracle-home. We saw the other surrounding houses with their lit porches, went up a block to discover a look-out point over a bluff. It was amazing. This beautiful home was going to be ours. Reality started to trickle in the cracks past our shock. God just did this.

This story continues to stun. Our lender contacted us the next day to share that our rate dropped resulting in a significantly lower monthly payment (WHAT?!) We locked in the next day to find it went up (only slightly), but left us with a lower payment still and (surprise!) an extra lenders credit that (surprise again!) doubled from what our lender banker even thought it would be. Wow. Seriously God? The week went on and we came to inspection time. Our inspector was amazing and walked us through the home educating us along the way. We chose to have another sewer line inspection done due to large-rooted trees out front. Our realtor knew of a reliable place with a current discount on that very work. Set up the appointment for the following Monday (this week) only to find out that (surprise!) the sewer lines went to the back of the house and not even near the huge trees with their intrusive roots. Didn’t even have to pay the extra little chunk of change for that job.

There have been other sweet provisions along the way these past couple weeks for our family life, for our marriage, for our personal growth. I’m soaking in all of it. God continues to provide extra savings money-wise. And only today we heard back from our realtor that the homeowners agreed to do all the fixes we requested post-inspection (all mostly small, but one that was a little more costly). Praise Jesus.

This new season is like riding a wave. I could cry now as I look back on this insane narrative; only one of many in our adventure with God. It’s amazing how He so cares for us. That care doesn’t always equate “getting everything we’ve ever dreamed of.” Sometimes it’s looked like keeping us hanging on when we feel like we don’t know how to anymore. Sometimes it’s meant assurance of His presence when the darkness draws in and we feel completely out of control. Sometimes it’s looked like believing that He has to be bigger than the chaos and the impossibilities we face as people; that, if He’s God, He can actually do that. We’ve come out of a lot of that this past year (me, in particular.) And now stepping into this bombardment of blessing leaves me speechless. He is the same. He is just as good and cares just as poignantly in my seasons of doubt and in the dark as He does now. He is my perfect provision when my health is volatile and my mind is raging. And He doesn’t withhold anything good. Yet He redefines what “good” means to us. It rises above the self-fulfillment of “having our ducks in a row” and things running smoothly and to our liking. Good is exactly what we need and God, in all His infinite mystery, is the sole source of that knowledge. In fact, He is that. He is the sovereign mystery that frustrates our desire to know everything and have the control. But when we settle into the fact that He is good, faith forms. And life’s craziness becomes less of a tidal wave because of His constancy.


He is good, guys. He is real. He is perfect. He knows everything. He loves us. And He is good.

simple graces of the every-day

It's the simple graces that keep surprising me. Like when I somehow get myself up and tackle the messy kitchen. Or when I feel like my exhaustion had kids and somehow got more exhausted but then I magically get the vacuuming done or tidy my daughter's room. Or even when the outlook for dinner appears utterly bleak and I throw in the towel only to find myself last-minute spurred or inspired with a menu for the night. Days like this keep happening. And it astonishes me. I find myself doing the domestic life of a stay at home wife and mom when so many mornings I wake up with no energy, no motivation, nothing in mind but how the bed was vacated way way too soon. It's not like my days suddenly turn into rainbows and daisies. Usually these simple graces come amidst my battle with a toddler who interrogates or pleads me mindless and a one-year-old who decides at my frailest moments that it's time to declare hunger or get needy. This doesn't describe every day. There are good ones and bad ones. For instance, my children are contentedly playing together even now while I gather some time to myself in heaping armfuls and attempt to write.

But I know these days are filled with God's simple graces. That each of these small accomplishments abound from something that lives inside me and does not merely get mustered from my own great determination. No, I am brittle, bare, and beyond "E" on my fuel tank. I am entirely human. Most mornings I'm splashed awake with the reality that I've got absolutely nothing to be up early again, to do the day at home with my kids, to say goodbye to my husband shortly upon rising, and to forge another day on my own. I try to keep it real. Days when I don't even do a formal "sit in the quiet with Jesus" and days when I'm attempting just that while my daughter continues to earnestly include me in her own game of make-believe or makes her requests known... numerous times, usually the stark truth of my depleted strength gets communicated in one way or another. And I'm so so SO thankful that He's way more present and tuned in with my every-day life than I often even begin to recognize. Because these days can be hard... and even confusing when I grapple with how I just can't seem to do this "mom and wife" thing very well, how I just want a day off, how I miss certain freedoms that have been sacrificed for this arduous task of parenting, how I just don't seem to have the love and the motivation to make it all more than it is and all that it could be.

I know a lot of the right answers to this pummeling internal talk. And I'm thankful God is there reminding me of them, using people near to me, and that His promises are always there to anchor life... and me. The days seem small, but He said to not despise them. Another early morning alone with my kids seems impossible, but He makes it happen. I may really mess up, but His mercy is ready and waiting when I come. I make it seem like these battles get resolved that quickly, but they often take a good deal of muddling. Just keeping it real. But I am so glad that He is far more real than all of the struggles and the toiling and the sin. And I am so glad that He is the One who makes the empty and nothing into "this is good." He did it in the beginning, and He works the miracles now--even now in the little ways of the every-day.

I so need Him to be that big for the battles that just seem tedious, for the selfishness that hits undeniably every morning. My tired self is leaning into Him now, hoping in His goodness and plan and provision and total control. And thankful for every time He shows up, His Spirit inside me getting me into the kitchen to cook, to clean, to even attempt to engage. I know that faithfulness is honored. And even that depends on His very own faithfulness. I am thankful He's more "here" than I'll ever comprehend. And I hope to witness it more and more.

Let Him be God

As our life unfolds each day, and the days continue into weeks and fill in seasons, I've found that this current season has been long. The past year has been a conglomeration of major life events, huge physical stresses, and a bunch of other miscellaneous things that pull together a well-rounded feeling of chaos. It would feel hopelessly so (and I'm not gonna lie, sometimes it has been just that) but He's been there even when I've felt Him less and less. The dichotomy is queer and yet... filling. It fills what would seem like merely a life of dismantling and disappointment with purpose. And it provides me with a challenge to faith that goes beyond my previously experienced definition. I have not ever been so pressed to believe in Someone bigger than myself. The pressing provides for discovery that cannot be matched in any other way. Discovering God amidst a broken world is a journey indeed.

One thing I've found is that faith is not like some extra cash in your pocket to simply compensate for a bill and move on your way. It's not cheap. We don't just get to say, "Oh yeah, I got this" and breeze through each wake in our life. Reality is, the wakes aren't even always wakes, they can be tidal waves or typhoons. But the point is, faith isn't a mere something within easy reach that we pull off the shelf when we need it. Faith is work. It's a muscle. And it gets exercised by life because life is hard. This world is falling apart, our bodies fall apart, and a whole lot of other plans and relationships and things do too. When we think of faith as a quick fix to feel better about all the chaos of our lives, it stifles the living, breathing, growing aspect of faith and makes God small and far away and a mere "addition" to "our life now." But when enough of "life" happens, throwing you into the reality that you don't have enough to handle the chaos, faith has to take a shift. It gets stretched to be real; as real and big as God is. And this is beyond us.

That's right now for me. This last year has held one thing after another, rolling into that tidal wave. And then sometimes it even starts to lightning and thunder on top of it all. Hate to be dramatic, but just keeping it real. The inevitable frustration finds its moments and I'm pushed to realize that I've got nothing. You may get that feeling: that when so much is going on on the bigger scale of life, along with a bunch of other little things, it leaves you completely inhibited for even the simplest endeavors. The weight and frustration and questions bear on the rest of living. So you gotta deal with it. At least that's how I feel. And yet, life doesn't just go on hold for that. We don't get a temporary hiatus to process and reflect, which again keeps our human frailty in greater perspective. Not only can I not handle my life right now, I can't even handle how I can't handle it. Ha! Right.

So. I'm pressed beyond the borders of self-dependence. That battle never seems to end no matter how much I realize my insufficiency, but getting real with it means faith has to happen. I am not enough. I am not enough for life's demands. I am not enough to figure out how to be enough. I am infinitely limited, in fact. This is no pity party. And it seems mighty depressing. But I'm finding that in the reality of my weakness and inability and unending lack of knowing everything and having control, God has to become God to me. Faith really has to happen.

Perhaps I "feel" Him less. But I have to trust Him more. Not just for the day-to-day things, but for the utterly fundamental. I have to face fear, doubt, questions, and weakness with, "You are God: You've got to be big enough for this." He's got to be bigger than me, than us. He can't be limited by our knowledge and abilities, and certainly not by our mess and the world's devastations. He wouldn't be God then. He would just be another person. And I, for one, do not want to be banking on someone like you or me, or even the most accomplished doctor or well-read scholar, to see me through. Because, at the end of the day, we just don't know everything. We don't have control. We are small.

I look up, knowing that He's there. Knowing that if I want to know that all He's said He is is true, I have to keep believing and depending. And my favorite part? That He is faithful even when I am faithless. Isn't that beautiful? He still is, even when I don't think or feel He is. He still goes on existing, loving, and holding all things apart from my constantly evolving feelings or thoughts. And He holds me. And, in the landscape of life I've found myself in, I have to keep pressing in, believing His chest is there where my head is resting. And I'm safe.

I want to know God as big as He is and not merely as a convenient comfort for my worldly life. He's greater than this world. And this world is not enough. I want what, Who, is. And I have to trust He wants it even more than me.

This chaos is purposeful. He wants us to know Him. To know Him we have to know ourselves. We are not enough. The end of us is a door to Him. We can try swimming against the tidal waves of insufficiency with more strokes of effort or even denial. Or we can ride the rapids through the door, succumbing to reality and casting ourselves upon Him. Believing His bigness and trusting He's enough and finding how much more He loves us. This faith is the more strenuous stroke.

He is God. Let Him be God for you.

 

(image originally posted by unbrokenbygrace)

The Necessary Dim

This has been a season of “closed in”. Not only is our family of four sharing space alongside my parents in their 3-bedroom rancher, we find ourselves in a position of waiting and in a state altogether... dim. Things seem clouded, veiled, and yet more; as though we’ve been shut off from a clear picture of what we’re doing and what in the world God’s doing. It’s a scary place to be in; filled with voices of doubt and fear and restlessness. I don’t identify these things as merely attached to our current circumstances. I believe it’s something God’s doing in our life and with our hearts and for our faith. Things are looking pretty unconventional right now and most would simply see the circumstances as the entire means to what we’re feeling. And of course they fuse the current state of our thoughts and feelings in a very direct way. But I’m pushing to see this as something supernatural. God brought us here. We live in Spokane now and Danny works part-time at FedEx while in limbo with a second part-time job at Apple that has yet to take motion. We hadn’t seen ourselves staying with my parents through the fall, and now into the holidays. But it’s happening. And life has been hard. All the craziness of transitioning onward into parenting two children, my body’s unexpectedly drawn out, postpartum tidal waves, and simply the fact that we moved our family back to our hometown: there’s plenty of room for stress and emotions and more emotions. It’s amazing how often life works as a vice to squeeze and press and cause us to have to deal with greater chaos on the inside.  You don’t think there’s that much inside of yourself to have to confront and deal with until it comes screaming out under pressure lying in front of you as the plain and simple, horrific mess that it is. I feel more vulnerable than I ever have in my entire life. And all the more desperate for a big God.

            When everything is happening just so, it has a way of flooding my perspective with black ink. I feel jumbled and confused, wondering at my beliefs and clinging to the fact that God’s gotta be holding onto me. He has to be big enough for this to be God and so I have to go on expecting Him to be. It’s like a crisis of faith. But, ironically, the precise means to perfecting it. We’ve been told that God views our faith as of greater worth than gold refined by fire (see 1 Peter). And so He will refine it and allow the heat to go up and the impossibilities to simmer and the boiling point to happen. We don’t like the heat and the hurt and the heartache that fill the process. But He sees it as worth it. He sees us as worth it. I want to trust Him through it. I want to trust that He is the supernatural hand behind, what seems like, the not-so-optimal landscape of our life. And that His hands are loving and strong.

            Verses from songs come flooding in: “Your love is strong” and “My hands are holding you.” The former:

                                    I’ll be by your side whenever you fall

                                    In the dead of night whenever you call.

                                    Please don’t fight these hands that are holding you.

                                    My hands are holding you.

I press into the remembrances like promises. God is steady, as sure as the springtime always comes to break the winter and the sun rises everyday. “This too shall pass,” He’s told me. And so I hope on. Never have I had to resolve so strongly against my feelings; not denying them, but choosing, despite them, to trust. To trust God for everything that’s lacking in my faith and understanding. How much more fundamental can it get? I want to see this through, but the only way I know I can is by falling back into His hands believing that they are there and are, in fact, behind the events of my life.

            I’m glad that He’s been big enough to save me and will always be. He’s got to be Savior in every aspect of my life. Not just in one moment on the cross but in every moment after: remaking and restoring and regenerating and redeeming. And simply showing that His victory on the cross, and His love there, is an endless story; it brings life and makes provision for me in all circumstances.

                                    My hope is built on nothing less

                                    Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness;

                                    I dare not trust the sweetest frame

                                    But wholly lean on Jesus’ name.

                                    On Christ the solid Rock I stand;

                                    All other ground is sinking sand,

                                    All other ground is sinking sand.

He wants me to know Him as the Rock, just as this hymn proclaims Him to be. And so I have to figure out that all other ground is instable to then go on to stand simply on Him. And then to discover Him as that sure Rock. It’s a process and He’s patient with it and He's got the whole thing. Praise Him.

One of my favorite verses right now is 1 John 3:20: “For He is greater than our hearts, and He knows everything.” I am so thankful.

And, as it also says, "Being confident of this, that He who began a good work will carry it on to completion..." (Phil. 1:6)

Song references: Jon Foreman's "Your Love is Strong", Tenth Avenue North's "By Your Side", and Edward Mote's "My Hope is Built on Nothing Less".

we're moving

It’s been a while since I really took the opportunity our floral chair has to offer, situated next to the big picture window. I forget how much I love sitting here. Funny how just a different seat in the home can provide so much more perspective and room for thought.

I’m sitting and taking it all in. I get the panoramic view of our entire first floor (aside from the enclosed kitchen around the corner.) I see our craigslist couch backed against the big wall—one of its three positions in the 2.5 years we’ve lived in the little apartment. Framed pictures scatter the wall above it along with the oversized clock we bought with gift cards from our wedding. Farther down the wall hangs my huge, beautiful, canvas oil painting that I got from our church’s yard sale when I was in high school. I swear it’s gotta be worth something. It hung in my bedroom back at the folk’s house and it’s been a part of our home while married too now grounding the whole dining room, which flows directly into the living space where I’m sitting. In the center of the dining space rests our wonderful, black-painted, pedestal, beauty-of-a-table. Danny and I scored it at a yard sale last summer and poured way too much effort into painting it ourselves. Miscellaneous, collected chairs sit around it. And the back window looking out onto our secluded alley (aka: parallel-parking lot) frames it all. Antique maps I found and love hang on other parts of our walls. And a conglomeration of Ellen’s play life is mingled in along the perimeter of everything.

There’s a lot more in this tiny space we’ve called home for the past 2.5 years of our life. I’ll omit the other details. Let’s just say this: we’ve lived here. It’s not just a home to our “stuff”. It’s been a dwelling of love, learning, battles, victories, prayers, joys, laughter, and way too many games of Settlers of Catan. We brought our daughter here after she was born; we watched her learn to smile by watching the ceiling fan over the dining table and saw her begin to crawl and then walk all over the mauve carpet. She’s two now and has just recently gotten into the habit of running back and forth in a diagonal line across one of the short lengths of the living room. And then, just three months ago, we brought our son home to this little place. Talk about outgrowing. And not just in square-footage, but in living.

Life has exploded from this place. For 2.5 years. Life has flowed. My husband and I grew into the identity of family here. Our marriage has been here. Much of our pioneering into adulthood has been here, not to mention parenthood. And, oh, how we’ve met Jesus. I cannot even begin.

I’m taking it all in intentionally. I believe God provided this moment because He knew I needed it; because I’ve had fears and He knows how much I need time to process (I’m a processor). I need it because we’re moving.

We’d been looking for a house rental in Medford tirelessly for a while after our son was born. Let’s just say the market here sucks (I can’t say that word anymore though because my daughter’s vocab is quickly expanding.) Earlier on in our search we came across a house we thought in most every way perfect. The circumstances seemed to just about guarantee we’d get it. Our hearts were settled that we’d go ahead and make the deal; if God didn’t want it for us, we prayed He’d make it very clear.

We got the call. Insert “weirdest reason you’ve ever heard for not accepting our family as tenants” and you have, “whelp! Can’t get much clearer than that!” There was comfort in how blatant the door shut because it was an answer to our prayers: God didn’t have it for us so He made it that clear.

Since then nothing else surfaced that seemed right. We made numerous calls and looked at various other places. It seemed so odd that nothing was materializing. We knew that God knew our needs. So we waited. And the search grew tired. And I stepped back to think.

Life this postpartum has not been all daisies and butterflies. My body has seemed to go on strike plotting all kinds of mischief and havoc. I know that sounds rather dramatic, but it’s kind of been one thing after the other. However, it provided a pretty perfect opportunity to press into Jesus like I’ve never had to in my entire life. And I don’t think that’s really a bummer as much as frustrating, hormonal madness seems in itself. No, I haven’t liked one bit of the many little things that have gone wrong or made life seem ridiculous. But I’m sitting finding joy in the fact that God has been walking (more like carrying) me through this exhausting, overwhelming season. It’s these seasons that force you to really deal with that issue of, “Is God really in control?” I’ve had to bank on it and trust in Him.

Getting back to the story, the madness in one way or another (or many ways, I don’t really know) stretched my mental to fully take in our reality here in Medford. There seemed to be a strange weight, a fog, and an uneasiness that I couldn’t shake. I know some of that may easily be to blame on the hormones. But I really felt something wasn’t right and needed to change.

The dynamic in Medford has been one we’d never expected: freeing yet so very challenging. We knew we were meant to be here for these last years. We also knew we wouldn’t be here indefinitely. But we found ourselves letting go of the “what’s next” and just “being” here doing the life God had given us in the Rogue Valley. Nevertheless, the restlessness always came back around. And this time it was different.

One night, Danny and I crawled into bed and I started talking. I found myself voicing ideas from my stirring feelings; I felt as though our life had reached this standstill and there was more to be a part of, more fullness to be had. I was aching for more. I was ready to start a new adventure.

In the days and weeks following, more prayer, conversation, and chaotic life ensued. We had planned a vacation not that long before to visit Spokane in July. Tickets were bought to fly the four of us up there, but we would drive back home in the “new-to-us” car we ‘d be receiving while in town. Danny and I figured this visit would provide an opportunity to feel things out and see if we were supposed to move back. We’d only been talking about it for the last couple years, but it was never the right time. Yet, at the end of the day, our hearts are there; we love Spokane.

Life sped up our “feel-it-out” experiment and all of a sudden we were flying up to Spokane (because of an unexpected family happening) over Memorial Day weekend. It made us wonder, “Is God doing this faster than we thought?” Being in Spokane was like medicine to our souls. It was not only a much-needed respite from our crazy life at home, it was freeing, natural, and right. We left the city after only a few-days visit taking it all more seriously.  This just might be the reality.

And so followed much more conversing and praying and processing. I love my husband all the more for taking my hand and riding the waves of life and forging through all the crazy mental processing that’s taken place the past weeks. There came a distinct shift as our minds settled more and more upon this decision: peace, relief, rejuvenation, and even a freshness with God in the Word. I can’t even describe it; it’s truly uncanny.

And so, we’re moving.

Funny how we’d already purchased one-way tickets.

So about that: it only made sense. We’re flying up in July, Danny comes back to put the boxes and furniture in a truck, and the Porters will embark in a whole new Spokane adventure. We are excited and know that God has much in store. He has cared for us so perfectly and miraculously during our Medford adventure as newly weds and new parents. And so the story goes on.

It’s a process to let go of this tiny little space we’ve called home for just about our whole marriage and parenthood thus far. So many “firsts” here that won’t be going away with the boxes. The memories and experiences keep within this 900 square foot landscape and will revive in photos and mental snapshots of reminiscing. There’s much we’ve grown tired of in this old, completely-un-insulated apartment. But I will still miss it and mourn it.

We praise God for all the friends who became a piece of our Medford home. You’ve each been perfectly orchestrated into our adventure throughout the 2.5 years here. We love you and thank you for loving us. We needed you. And Facebook will make it so much easier to see what’s happenin’ and keep in touch!

To you all, we appreciate every prayer, care, and thought you’ve sent and do send our way. It’s all been a part of God’s perfect work. He is so good.

Spokane, get ready. We’re coming to drink your coffee dry.