In life, I typically feel like I am playing house, as if it a game.
But while prepping for our move to San Diego (you can read about that exciting thing here), I’ve experienced a lot of new “big-people” things–running a garage sale, borrowing a friend’s whole house, watching a toddler amidst a construction zone, and downsizing and packing five people’s stuff into a container the size of a parking spot while muddling through legal details in taxes, budgets, bills, renting, insurance, buying and selling cars, houses, and breastmilk.
When did my world become so adult-ish? I know I’ve collected adulthood over the years, but as we move on to new places and things, this adulthood phenomenon has begun to rain down around me rather like a torrential downpour.
And through it all, I just see a haze. One big fat fog, which I am guessing is acidic, numbing me one moment, requiring me to cry the next, but most notably, it is causing me to not see very much.
We are supposed to be moving from NoVA in 1.5 weeks. We don’t know if we are driving together or separately across the country, nor which route we will go. We don’t know if we are renting or selling our house here. We are living out of suitcases, my husband is limping on a messed up foot, and I am pretty much bed-ridden as I threw-out my back, by doing the everyday hard work of picking up my baby. We have major sections of our house needing and being renovated, but are still missing a plan for a good chunk of this. We don’t have a place to move into in San Diego, which I find concerning mostly just because I am not even remotely worried that this isn’t nailed down yet. (Shouldn’t I care a little more?)
My dad keeps referring to our evident blindness and then quotes this Bible verse,
I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them, I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do, I will not forsake them. Isaiah 42:16
Of course, I don’t take it personal that he has seemed to gather from the way we are doing things that we are a tad, if not mostly blind. After all, he’s got nice things to say to us blind people.
And while I stand here in a fog, blurry shapes around me, still wondering why we have so much adultish things to take care of . . . people are loving us.
I have one friend who has pretty much adopted my toddler, which is quite excellent, as he seems to otherwise be finding the nails and saws laying around as we renovate. And when she isn’t around, others offer.
A person sold us their perfect-for-us van for many thousands under what we would be able to get it for from a auto dealership, so now I am pimpin’ that ride.
Someone organized meals for us, so now every other day miraculously prepared food appears. I am finding this exceptionally convenient since our range was ripped out and thrown away.
Then, at least one friend a day stops by to help us pack, tear up drywall, paint, tile, bring us frappacinos, or flowers, or let us stay in their house and soak in their tub.
And while my dad lovingly points out our blindness, he and my mom make sure my kids are still learning things or doing homework, because I sure as heck am not doing meaningful stuff like that with them.
Still, ironically in this piece of adulthood I am now living, sometimes I still find myself freaking-out about how I will take care of Elijah tomorrow, when it just so happens that everyday so far has seemed to take care of itself.
My dad is right–we haven’t been forsaken or abandoned. This is saying a lot, as most of these kindhearted people keep reminding us that they must love us a whole lot, as they smartly note that in helping us, they are essentially helping us leave and abandon them. (So sorry, guys!)
I am blind, but sometimes being unorganized, unplanned, and anything but together is what makes hope, faith, and love shine the brightest.