Uprooted

My husband and are finally at that point in life where we can enjoy the fruits of our labor; we have fewer surprises, and things are slower, easier, more relaxed,  and less frenzied. We have the luxury of not having to work; we can finally sleep in and not stress about schedules, housekeeping, or finances. We can stay home, go on a last-minute trip, or plan extravagant holidays--our affairs are in order and our children are grown with kids of their own. We'd buried and settled the estates of all four of our parents, found a wonderful church home, and are financially secure.  Nestled in the beautiful mountains and forests of Western North Carolina is our lovely log home where we plan to spend our remaining years. My husband loves to plan RV trips and is an avid pickleball player; my passions are tutoring elementary school children, writing, and sewing. Our golden years were truly going to be just that--golden. 

Or so we thought.

To be closer to one of our daughters, we bought a little house on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. Now we have two houses, one which we love and one we are beginning to love--slowly. Two church homes with two different pastoral styles (Assembly of God vs reformed Presbyterian). Two cities with radically different demographics, weather, and population size.  Two addresses and all the headaches that come with making sure mail and packages get to the right one.  Two electric, gas, internet, property tax, and homeowner insurance bills. Two of everything--confusing on the good days, overwhelming on the bad ones.  Two timezones, for goodness sake! The struggle is real, folks!

Let's face it...I am well over the age of 65, and my body and brain remind me of that every single day.  I do not like change or driving in unfamiliar, new places--thank goodness for GPS and Bluetooth hearing aids. Not only are the heat and humidity hard to get accustomed to, the accents...oh my stars and red garters, those accents! As a person get older it becomes harder and harder to understand accents different than her own, and hearing aids do nothing to help that, so why of all places on God's green earth did we choose houses in Appalachia and southern Mississippi? Why aren't we spending all our time and money on cruises and trips to Europe instead of going back and forth between two homes, especially when we have to get out of the car every two and a half hours to stretch and go to the bathroom? 

Family, that's why. The chance to leave an imprint of ourselves with those we love and cherish, the opportunity to exhibit Christ's love in all we do, and to plant those seeds that others will water. To read books to granddaughters, attend school fall festivals, take kids shopping, hug our adult kids (when they will let us), play paper dolls, build Lego creations, give advice and support, and, most of all, to be God's hands and feet wherever He may lead us.

Tonight a little girl ran into my room and hugged me when she heard me crying about missing my Augustine tutoring up in Rosman, NC, saying, "Grandma you need a hug." That little girl revels in sitting next to me in my oversized chair listening to me read one of Katherine Applegate's books, and she adores joking around with her grandpa, swapping riddles, and helping him make cupcakes. And as I sit in my homey and comfortable Mississippi living room decorated with love by our daughter, I am at peace. 

“One generation shall commend your works to another, and shall declare your mighty acts.” – Psalms 145:4