Recalculating Route

Alison, the passenger

Alison, the passenger

It’s true.  I’ve been known to get a little anxiety about being in high-stress situations in a vehicle — these may include bad winter roads, high traffic, or unknown places which is sad because I have also driven lots of places on my own, far more than I ever dreamed I would!

Traveling with my family on my sweet man’s business trips and setting up in various cities with a determination to take my children to see the sights while he conducted meetings, tends to force a girl out of her comfort zone.  When we first started road-tripping as a family, I earned my navigational chops with a rare item — you may have heard of it?  It’s called a paper map.  Eventually, we progressed to a GPS that suctioned to the windshield.  One of those babies guided me, driving on my own with my children in the backseat) through downtown Washington DC (my most challenging driving to date).  I once drove a bit on the wrong side of the road in Australia.  I have navigated my husband through situations so dicey we would never want to repeat them.  In those moments, when tensions run high, I promise, it helps everything when you love your navigator — and he, you.

Ironically, now we live in a place where we are literally the farthest location in the continental US from an interstate highway.  Where we live, two lane roads are what we’ve got, and every route will most likely include dirt-road driving.  With some of the highest snowfall in the country, winter-road-driving is an every day occurrence half of the year.  Might as well settle into it.

Because though the weather might be frightening, it also provides views like this…

PIKE LAKE ROAD

Or this…

sunset

But there are still days.  There are still times when my stomach is in my throat.  When I have to release my grip from the passenger door.  When I have to tell myself that tears won’t help the zero visibility and give myself a pep talk something like…”Chin up, buttercup!  Just get home.”  Or maybe, “Please, Jesus just take the wheel!”  Haha.

When I look back at the path we have chosen as a family, I see it like those big cities, foreign countries, and unfamiliar roads.  There have been so many that were overwhelming, so many that felt upside-down and backwards, and so many that were so beautiful, they took my breath away.

Around the world, you find a couple different kinds of folks.  You find those that are content to stay put, and those that need to see more than the world around them.  Everywhere we’ve been, we find people who have always been in their hometown and have never ventured out.  And then you find people like we’ve been with an insatiable desire to have our worlds expanded.  I think each has a hard time imagining how the other feels.

Once upon a time, we were doing the thing.  We were living in a neighborhood and driving a minivan and we had a dog and a cat and a boy and two girls.  My husband worked long hours, and I did from home as well.  We went to a church and were working our way up the *life ladders,* whether social, church or corporate. Our visions for our future and our family looked much like everyone else’s.  We had a 401K because everyone did.  We invested more than we had into our home because we were told it was a sound investment.

We made most decisions based on how it would be perceived rather than what was authentic to who we were.

And then, one day, we were told that we were traveling too much and our kids were missing too much school.  An awareness began.  A feeling of unrest took root.  When it was time to send my little precious people out to a freezing cold bus stop and send them to a movie day at school with their pillows and a stuffed animal, I kept them home and we watched the same movie snuggled in momma’s bed, and I realized there might be a different way.  I began to research and it was within a few weeks that we quit school and our precious little people inspired a new path for our family — at home.  We understood (though we had no idea the depth) that we would be different.  That our children would be judged and stared at and commented upon.  But we were willing to pay that price.

That price affected us greatly.  We endured insults and comments and judgments.  But we also road-tripped 48 states and visited several countries.  We also got as close as a family can get, and beautifully, that bond endures.  My children are brilliant (I wish I could take the credit but I can’t) because they had space and time to learn and grow and develop on their own.  And even because of the comments and insults and judgments.

This first route change began a series of route recalculations that we could have never seen coming.  Within a few years, we would be called as a family to buck all of the systems and lay down every one of our desires to be normal and keep up with those darn Joneses.  Each time we got called out of something, we lost friends and areas of community, and each time we gained vast perspective and measures of freedom.

I heard a song recently called Different.  In it, the writer says he longs to be different.  To take the road less traveled, so to speak.  I heard those words and I wondered if he meant it.  We thought that once.  We told God we would be willing to do anything He asked us to.  We told Him we would lay it ALL down.  He listened.  He put one challenge, one obstacle course after another in front of us, and asked if we meant it.  Each time, we felt His smile and His hand guiding our every move.  But each time we had to be willing to lose to GAIN.  Perhaps the hardest part was letting go of what folks would think, but each time got easier and those voices faded into the distance.

It’s like putting a destination into your map app and seeing the shortest, easiest route and instead choosing the route with tolls and bridges and dirt roads and maybe even a ferry ride –through a blizzard.

The harder path changes you.  It has to because the challenges make you dig into your grit, lean heavily into trusting something bigger than yourself even when the way is unclear, yet provides you with views and stories of which you’ve never dreamed!

Our best stories from our 13,000 mile family RV trip 8 years ago are the ones that got us to impossible moments where we reached the end of the road and our own capabilities.  Only miracles could fix the pickles in which we found ourselves.

And miracles abounded.

So here’s a question for you: let’s say you were to begin a road trip of that magnitude today with your family.  Would you prefer to travel in an ancient, untested RV that got 5 miles to the gallon, beginning with $600 in your bank account with winter on your heels, OR would you pick the million dollar motorhome with all the comforts possible, unlimited funds, guaranteed safety, and perfect summer weather?  I’m asking myself right this minute, and I will still say that I honestly don’t know.  I did the first one and guys, it was HARD! And scary! And pushed me to my limits as a person, wife, and mother.  Yet, I GREW!  I left my home convinced that the place on which we had a huge mortgage was the only home I had ever known and I could never — would never — leave it.  I came home from that trip having seen things that made me ready to shuck off anything and everything and go anywhere God asked me to go.  I let go of all of the things I thought were important and was prepared for anything.  In each *impossible* situation, my fingers were pried off of my security, one by one,  and I was asked to trust in a whole new way.  By the time we pulled in to palm tree-lined campground pads next to Prevosts in our Clampett-mobile a couple dozen times, we had decided that our image was something to let go of!

But friends, our dreams changed! Our scope, our perspective, our very vision grew!!  We saw our box and leaped out!!! Our lives would turn upside down, and we would be called to *different* in a way we could have never imagined in a million years.

We sit in awe these days — awe at what God did with our dreams when we set them at His feet.

He took us through storms to train us to lean in and listen through the wind and thunder for the route to be recalculated.

He drove us through deserts so we would not only know what dry felt like, but abundance when we saw it.

He took us on roads so winding that we couldn’t even see the road ahead until we popped out on top of a mountain and had our breath stolen by the view.

I say it often — you can’t surrender a little bit.  Surrender to something bigger than you requires every little morsel.  But when the road you’re on has signs that feel like STOP and DEAD END, it’s most likely that surrendering the route to the Navigator Who adores you, Who can see the view from every direction, will absolutely change your life.

And you wouldn’t go back for ANYTHING.

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Treading water

We’re taking our house off the market.  Sigh…
Around here, the market is TOUGH!!!  There are a couple factors completely out of our control making the selling even harder.  And we are burned out.  Tired of living in a house we are not really living in.  I want to put my family pictures back up and decorate my gorgeous mantel again and leave a mess overnight if I want to.  I want people to quit driving down our driveway for a while.
So we are taking a break for the winter, starting now.

We have some big plans up our sleeve while we wait these few months.  Those will be revealed when the time is right, and then when spring comes we will begin again.

Besides, there is a baby about to be born into this family and that deserves some serious attention!

You all know by now how much I love Lake Michigan.  If you’ve read my summer blog posts at all, you know that there is nowhere on this earth that I would rather be than at my beach, swimming in the lake.  Thanks to this lack of a home sale, I had a delightful summer here.  Well, other than that month of cold that deprived me.

me and my beach 2Two days ago, I found myself alone, happily tucked up in the beach grass, just me and God.  I had sun time and water time.  Best day kinda stuff. Image

As I was going out into the chilly water, I was thinking of the different approaches my family has to getting in.  With the water temp usually hovering between 67 and 70 (occasionally climbing up to a sweltering 72), it takes some courage to go in.  And it’s not like a pool where you can just jump!  You have to walk out and try to acclimate with waves that splash higher into dry, still-warm regions of your body, and it can take some fortitude, let me tell ya!
My husband has what I call the “Lake Michigan Walk.”  Oh, how I wish I could show you.  It makes me laugh out loud every single time I see it.  His arms are lifted at the shoulders, his elbows held up by two invisible strings, and his whole body goes up and then down again with each rise and fall of the water.  It’s fantastic.  And it never fails.
My oldest and youngest always blaze on in at full speed.  When they get to a depth of about three feet, they dive under.  And they do this in May or June when the water may be a balmy 60 degrees.  Not kidding.  Then, my youngest will turn around and start the badgering of Momma.  “Come on, Mom!  Go under!  Aren’t you gonna swim, mom?  C’mon!  Get all the way wet!”
Because there I am up to my waist, happily standing in the sun, half-refreshed, half-warm.  So Happy.  Very Content.  Except this niggling need I have to go deeper.  This little voice in my brain that says, “There’s more, and you don’t want to miss it!  What if you don’t surrender to this and you go home and for the next month, Michigan is 60 and rainy and you will have missed it!”

So, here’s my strategy.  For anywhere from 5-20 minutes (depending on how cold I am), I think about it.  I stand there and wait until the time is just right.  And then I get to the best, bravest part.
I pick my wave and jump.  Head first, headlong into the cold.  Deep into the water that mutes the rest of the world.  I swim suspended in a place where no one else can be. And I come up refreshed and so happy.

There are days like yesterday, however, where there are no real waves.  I stand there and can’t figure out if I want to just stay warm where I am or go all the way under, and there’s no defined wave to spur me on.  No clearly defined moment telling me which way to go.

Kinda like our life right now.  There is no clear answer.  Obviously, the timing isn’t quite right for us to move.  The right family who needs this house isn’t quite ready for it.  Perhaps there are some things being worked out in the six of us before we are ready for the next step.
But this time, we don’t get to pick our wave and jump.  It’s not about being afraid to go all the way in, it’s about surrender to a bigger plan.
It’s completely out of our control.  That’s an interesting place to find yourself, let me tell ya.  You either surrender to it or you rail against it.  I’ve done a bit of each, honestly.  From a place of frustration and regrouping to a place of relative peace.  Again, You-Who-knows-best,  I say that I trust you.  Here’s where the water meets the sand, so to speak.

So, we’re gonna tread water for now.  Not all the way wet, not all the way dry.  Just chillin’ here waiting for the chance to dive.
In the meantime, enjoying the view…