I’ll start with my high school writing assignments. You know the very memorable ones you keep in scrapbooks? The ones that ask you to collect memories, traditions, family trees etc and compile them into one big beautiful portfolio of your life up until that point? Those ones.
Some of the assignments were easy for me and I loved them! Especially the ones about personality, hobbies or dreams. I have always had an interest in what makes people different, and still love it! The assignments I had trouble with, however, were the ones about memories. The ones where you had to pick your favorite family tradition or describe the home you grew up in. I struggled with these because, like the title suggests, I didn’t feel like I had that.
Now- this isn’t pity party time where I tell you about how awful my upbringing was. I had many wonderful things about my childhood, including but not limited to the times my sister and I would jump and play on big round hay bails til the sun went down, or the walks we would take with my grandma down back country roads to collect pop cans. I also have memories of going with my dad to work for 3 weeks on “the big truck” all across the country, eating at the buffets and taking pictures of all the beautiful places we visited. I’ll never forget how good my mom was at stuffing stockings! In fact, there aren’t many big presents I even remember but I remember almost every stocking I ever opened!
The part I felt I missed out on, was growing up in one house where all of these wonderful memories took place under one roof with the same close family members and close friends. I was envious of the fact that many of my friends got to experience both parents under the same roof (my parents separated when I was in 7th grade). I would watch as a friend from school would move and just be totally taken over with emotions of missing their house, neighbors, school and friends. I didn’t understand it. Moving came easy to me. It was like it was just another thing you do along with eating, drinking and going to school everyday. I became so used to moving, that I put up a wall towards people and they became acquaintances to me instead of close friends. I was simply preparing for the next move.
It wasn’t until I had children of my own that I came to see how this effected me. Because for the first time, I experienced an outpouring of sincerely uncontrollable happy emotions towards another person. I felt what it was like to be so close to someone that you would do anything for them. What hurt my kids, hurt me. What made them happy, made me tear up out of happiness for them.On the other hand, I saw what my mom saw when she looked at us kids. I experienced the feeling of not knowing the best way to raise them. I felt what it was like to have to make tough decisions even if my kids didn’t understand it. I had to go through tough circumstances that I hoped my young kids would never remember. I felt the feeling of comparing myself to other moms and wondering if I was doing a good enough job. For the first time, I understood my mom.
It was during our cross country move from Colorado to North Carolina this past summer, with my (mostly) happy little family of 5, that I saw my craving for a “home” burst wide open into a tangible dream! It took heartache, lots of it, to get to this point of making such a large move but I couldn’t be more thankful. The most ironic part of the whole thing is that because of this move, my husband and I are far away from anything we have ever known and away from 90% of our family. I have learned many, many things about myself during this journey (and it’s just beginning!)
Things I have learned:
Watching my husband get to spend time with his dad (his parents divorced when he was around Kindergarten age), is top 5 most amazing and humbling things I think I have ever experienced! My heart just explodes with happiness each time I get to see their relationship blossom again after 20 years!
Although, moving all of the time was hard, it also allowed me to experience many different places and types of people. I consider myself a very open person because of this. I don’t see skin color, political views, sexual preferences or circumstances when I see people. I see the person for who they are- a broken person doing their best- just like the rest of us!
Being alone and away from family is extremely hard but teaches you so much about yourself! It has also taught me that being apart does not make you distant, it makes you closer! I am far closer to my friends from CO and to my mother specifically since our move, than I ever was when I had them living down the street.
Making a choice to put your own spouse and kids in front of your sibllings, parents and extended family is a choice to break generational patterns. It is when you start over in a new place and are left with no choice but to be close to the people under your own roof, that you start to see the value in those relationships!
The past has no control over you when you choose to leave it behind and focus on the present. Maybe there were too many memories there? Maybe it was feeling like I was stuck in an ever revolving door of circumstances presenting themselves over and over again just with different faces on them. Maybe it was being too close to grudges I’ve held a large portion of my life. Whatever the reason, getting away from my past and starting over one last time was enough to ignite a flame inside of me that won’t easily be distinguished!
Finally, I learned that God is the author of our stories and whatever plans we think we have for our lives are no match for the plan God has already set aside for us. Just when we start to feel absolutely hopeless, he shows up and makes good out of it. He gives us hope!