Friday, December 6, 2013

Moving, Winter, and the Sounds of Change

Last night I finally found the box of mittens and scarves and hats and, this morning, in the rush to push the kids out the door, down the crunchy snowy sidewalk and onto the bus, we unknotted scarves from previous play and sorted mittens. I supposed it was about time this chore got done since the cold weather came LAST week and the snow is finally being bob-catted from the berm in the middle of every town street. So, I was a little late. No frostbite was seen or felt, however, and we were none the worse for wear.

On August 1st we moved to Waconia. Back to my hometown, the land of The Lake, and cute little downtown shops and Catholic church bells ringing and Target. We left wide open spaces, cows moooing, a spacious farmhouse that I had finally gotten organized and decorated the way I wanted, our "En-Gedi", unplowed roads in winter and high utility bills.

Old Town Hall 

I think God himself led us to live here, (a block from a movie theater, my favorite coffee shop, the bubble tea shop, chocolate outlet, consignment shop and new church campus) though sometimes my dear husband balks at the presumption of such claims. We moved because it made sense financially. But I believe that when we "trust the Lord with all our hearts and lean not on [just] our own understanding, He will make straight our paths."

We have hearts that more than anything want to do what He wants, so I think he leads even when we think we are being logical. Even with all our logical decision making, only God could have known the dominoes that would fall when we moved. One by one, each decision led to another, and the resulting feeling that this season is divine gift.


The other evening, as the snow fell softly and turned the night white, I lay cozy in bed, but missed the farm and the howling and shuddering wind that came with storms. It's quiet here in town, at least the weather is. The intermittent tractor sounds carrying across the open expanse have been replaced by the clatter of garbage trucks and snowplows, delivery trucks and postal traffic. As I thought about how I missed the isolated sounds of the gales galloping unhindered across 200 acres of bare open fields, the windows began to shudder here in my town home. Evidently some sounds never change.

Comforted, I fell right to sleep.


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