Breathless Haste

We have a picture of our home in South Carolina with both “for sale” and “for lease” signs in the front yard. Looming in the background is an eighteen-wheeler truck emblazoned with the words, “Chicagoland Moving and Storage.” That photo summed up our transition perfectly. It is one thing to believe that you have heard God’s voice. It is another to actually follow through on it. On the one hand, it was exhilarating to be throwing caution to the wind and following God on a midlife adventure. On the other hand, it was gut-wrenching to be walking away from our home, our family, and the friends whom we had been sure we would do life with forever. These were the people who shared in our best and worst of times. This was the house where we brought our children home after they were born and where we had lunch after Brock’s funeral. We were leaving behind so many memories. As Rebecca said, “Leaving this house is killing me.”

We had two signs in our yard, but we clearly had one preference. As we drove away on May 19, 2003, our thought was that we would be gone for three years and then come back. That would allow me time to complete seminary, gain valuable ministry experience, and lastly—or so I thought—become spiritually formed. Whatever that meant.