true life: i'm living in house denial

Repeat after me: what boxes?

Or bags or piles or suitcases busting at the seams, for that matter.

It has officially been 26 days since we spent the first night in our wonderful new home. And because of Jesus' grace and four wonderful parents, the only things we have to show for it is an organized kitchen, curtains, and an installed washer and dryer set. I did manage to put our duvet inside our duvet cover. That was day 25.

Since we moved in, we've been to Alabama for my precious Anna's first birthday party and dove into wedding season with two flowering weeks in a row. That is not a complaint. Just how I remind myself that it's excusable that our life is still in boxes.

I mean...what boxes?

Our hilariously long project list looked like it could be accomplished in a couple of weekends. Now I'm shooting for 2015ish. A full day to unpack the entire upstairs? Try just our closet. A few hours to build and paint a dining room table? Try 48. So instead of living in the house that has been picture-perfect in my mind for the last eight months, I'm happily living in house denial.

We all know I have plans to post pictures of a deceivingly clean house after I get rid of all those cardboard things in a cube shape that hold all my junk. So for the sake of full disclosure and a little kumbaya-let's-all-live-together-in-hilariously-real-honesty, I give you the before:

Piles of fuzz balls: courtesy of our rug in that new rug molting stage // A very naked fireplace: desperately awaiting a mantel // That lovely gold chair: saying "pleeeeease recover me" // Leftover wedding flowers: perks from my dream job

New dining room table: built by D of which I am obnoxiously proud // Lowe's sacks: full of our life savings (home ownership is expensive, y'all) // Carbon monoxide detector: a very necessary purchase in the mind of my engineer // Piles of other crap: standard these days

A fairly normal looking kitchen (including lined cabinets): only possible because of my two life-saving moms // Orangey wood stools: needing paint - STAT // More piles: still standard

The beloved window seat: currently containing every piece of art/wall hanging I own. And a lamp. And some trash cans. // More of those cardboard things: what boxes?

Stairwell collage: my one and only project thus far // Empty frames: please ignore

Christmas tree stand: attic-bound // Boxes (what boxes?): previously organized but have since been the victims of rummaging // Iron: not used since we've moved

Three sad-looking rooms: waiting to be decorated // Piles of clean laundry: in need of folding (any volunteers?) // Boob light: the last one left after my builder-grade light mass wipe out

Curtains: in desperate need of a meeting with the steamer // Headboard: in desperate need of another  coat of paint // Dried wedding bouquet: the only thing that I'm crazy protective over while moving // The pile of bullet boxes and a gun cleaning kit (not pictured): no longer a surprising find on D's bedside table  

Suitcases: those are the "busting at the seams" ones // New light: looks much smaller in pictures // The heaviest TV there ever was: D's from college and in need of a piece of furniture to house it (since he won't let me put it by the side of the road) // Corner pile: yet another "maybe for a garage sale but just get it out of my freaking house" pile

Color coordinated clothes: this is what I did with the rest of day 25 // Tools: my mess that I didn't clean up after adding fabric drawer pulls // Shoe rack: the greatest Bed Bath and Beyond purchase ever

There she is in all her fuzz ball, dusty, pile-filled, mid-project beauty. Here's to hoping I'm not the only one. If you need me, I'll be unpacking something, somewhere, for the next year and a half. 

frame of mind

Simply, moving a sizable distance from anyone and anything of familiarity is both great and terrible. Exciting and heartbreaking. It's a lot like choosing to move away for college. Or committing to a summer at Pine Cove without knowing a soul. For me, those kind of decisions have always been easy make (yes, let's go and let's do) and heart-wrenching to carry-out. And they've always been for the very best.

The problem with the excitement and heartbreak is that you never know which one is going to strike you and when. I've noticed its the small things. I feel a rush of comfort when we're getting in the car and waving to all of our neighbors who happened to be outside at the same time: Reverend Doug and Mrs. Gloria who have lived across the street for over thirty years and our quirky and talkative next door neighbor, Ramsey, who still says, "Hi Dustin and Rachel!" when he sees us. Still. Or sometimes its the feeling of the cool Carolina mornings or driving over big hills or authentically connecting with people as we visit churches. Its raising the screen on the back bedroom window and kissing D while he's working in the backyard [praise Jesus for Saturdays]. And its especially the closeness it brings to our relationship as we share those excitements and the tough parts too.

The tough parts? Missing people. And meeting new ones. And not having a church home. Also wishing that Sister from Where the Heart Is would drive up in her pick-up turned covered wagon and hand me a welcome basket. She'd especially be able to tell that I'm new if she saw me in the grocery store. I'd be staring at all the aisle markers with one of those "I don't know where anything is in the store" face.

Through it all, I'm learning to not live for the normalcy that I just love to cling to. Or believing that life is only truly happy in those picture-worthy moments: the family in front of the perfectly decorated Christmas tree or the arrival of new babies or fiftieth anniversaries. Though it may not be true, the pictures that you choose to frame usually give the illusion that everything has a time and a place and a routine making this transition time seem, well, not-so-picturesque. But I know my attitude towards the hours spent filling our front porch with to-be-recycled packing paper will matter more than how I respond when we hang the last painting or finally buy a sofa or actually have friends over for dinner. Maybe instead of wedding pictures, I'll fill our walls with an 8x10 of cardboard boxes. Or us eating on the floor while watching TV [which was also on the floor]. Or even a nice shot of air mattresses. Here's to embracing transition.

the goodbyes

Almost three years ago to the day, we gathered around a different table with, I'm sure, great plates of food - something consisting of bread and cheese and sugar. We faced our first change - Hannah was bravely moving to Nashville. In between bites, we told each other pretty much everything we loved about one another, wallowing in tears and encouragement and nostalgia and promises of keeping in touch.

We did keep in touch. We stood in each others' weddings and watched graduations and kissed Natalie's baby and prayed for direction in each others' lives. We took road trips and set up group texts and met for lunch on Saturdays.

On Sunday, we reconvened for a wonderful going away party generously thrown by these friends. The scene was different - a home instead of an apartment, pacifiers, new husbands and boyfriends, different styles, needing to go home to get up for work the next morning. But there was good food - bread and cheese and sugar - and an even greater time spent together.

Earlier that afternoon, Dustin went to his last Pastor Search Team meeting. Meaning he left me alone with my emotions and thoughts and over-producing tear ducts. We had tearfully said goodbye to our church family that morning. A church family that will be irreplaceable but who lovingly commissioned us to a new part of the country and a new part of life. Once D got home, I was a nervous wreck - nervous to face the goodbyes of that night.

I shouldn't have been nervous. Once we had all filled the seats in Nat's new living room, we laughed and talked about old trips and funny stories. And then we laughed some more. Even though I shed some tears while walking to our car that night, I was so thankful for how it had turned out. Thankful that we were able to relive some of our best nights together. Thankful that it felt so normal and so right. Thankful that it didn't seem like an ending. It was, I believe, a proper goodbye.

This night should be kept in a completely different drawer than my lunch with Hannah the next day. Bistro Byronz tasted better than ever as our conversation tiptoed around the fact that, simply, I'm moving far away. Once out of public we silently sobbed the full length Government Street and then some in the capitol parking lot. I have not felt that heart broken since the catastrophe of 2007:

I'm incredibly thankful for both - laughing and crying - and how they bring closure and companionship and care. I'm thankful for the Lord proving time for both. And, as always, I'm thankful for the promise of long distance friendships.

After a wonderful lunch and party at the office yesterday, I think the goodbyes are winding down. I feel my heart shifting to the next set of hopes and concerns. I'm wondering if the timing will work out with the movers and if Molly will go into labor mid-move and how we'll find another church community without comparing them to our CP family and when we'll find friends and if they'll be quiet or funny or sweet. But right now I'm thankful for those who love us enough to remind us that God has a sovereign plan and, no matter what that turns out to be, that it is for our best. I'm thankful that, though this is new to me, there are friends that have gone ahead of us and now offer advice and comfort of understanding

And I'm thankful for Dustin. For his talents and his organization and his care to detail and his deep love. And I'm thankful that I know that this will become even more true in our lives because of this move:

To those walking through this goodbye time with us, I want to thank you for your hugs and fellow tears and prayers. You have made this time, which I feared I would fly right through, incredibly special and meaningful. You mean the absolute world to us, and we look forward to finding out what this relationship looks like long-distance. We love you.

on regrets and being present

Between bites of salty chips and our favorite Cajun-inspired Mexican food, we talked about moving details and  building a new budget and our inability to wrap our minds around the fact that we'll no longer have a zip code that begins with the number seven. Instead it's a new five-digit number that I have yet to memorize. And while watching the sunset over the Mighty Mississippi, we talked about what changes we were ready for and which ones we couldn't bare to face. D had spent his last evening working with his group and turned in his report and notebook, his last engineering undergrad assignments ever. I think I asked him three or four times what it feels like to never have to study on campus again in the hopes that he might attach words to the feeling swirling inside my head and my heart. He couldn't. But there was certainly a rumbling excitement underneath that conversation's surface. And a small but expected heart pang.

Being honest, this is the time that I have been waiting for. The time when I proudly watch D walk across that graduation stage and when we get to begin spending time together in the evenings and when I end my job which I'm very thankful for but also sure it is not what I was created to do forever and ever. And I have certainly been waiting for it. Stubbornly. With frustration and an unsatisfied heart.

You see, I had originally intended to write about my regrets. Regret for not having everyone we wanted to over for dinner. Regret for not exercising more or being a better coupon-er. Regret for not being able to meet with Rebecca weekly as we had hoped and planned. Regret for how little time we spent with our neighbors. With a whole lot of "poor pitiful me's" and "guess I'll just have to move on's" thrown in. But I've been taught and reminded, by a loving and pursuant God, two very important things:

1) God gave us late nights and early mornings and impossible schedules because He has a sovereign purpose woven in and out of every hour, minute, and second of our lives.

2) The only regret I should take away from this year is how I responded to those impossible schedules. Again - stubborn, frustrated, unsatisfied.

When I think about my attitude throughout most of this year, I picture myself sitting on our hand-me-down couch, arms and legs crossed, staring blankly, lips tight. Choosing not to accept what this day to day life has turned out to be. Choosing not to talk to my Father about it. Choosing to stick it out, bad attitude and all, until we can move on. Though it becomes a perfect personification of my heart, the truth is that I wasn't just sitting. I was working late and waiting up for D and crying because I was weary of being alone until eleven at night. Or sometimes five in the morning. It is also true that this wasn't an every day situation. There were plenty of exciting and funny and encouraging moments. Probably more so than not. But all the while I felt my heart slipping into that stubborn, waiting attitude. Even if I didn't show it.

As I think on it and talk to God about it, that blinding sense of regret seems to deflate while the memorable lessons sink their way deeper into my heart and mind. This is one of those moments when I am overwhelmed by the grace that He gives by His ceaseless teaching and by His power to overtake my ugly attitude. If I were Him [and let us all take a moment to offer up a few Hallelujahs that I am not], I'd feel as though  I was an exhausting waste of time. Yet, in His presence and through His eyes, I am His beloved. What a staggering fact.

Moving forward [which is simply what grace allows you to do], I'll hope to do a few things differently. I'll be better at time management instead of letting these new work schedules spin my college-freedom-lover of a self into clamoring ball of exhaustion. And with that time I will not neglect spending time in the God's Word and talking to Him and, most importantly, listening. You would think I would have grasped this one by now. But I am thankful to have experienced the starvation that comes from separation from my Bread of Life. It is not something I want to relive. And a constant, positive attitude and outlook is not something to be conjured.

I'll also, because of God's grace-filled lessons, be better at living in the present. A present filled with life and energy and dimension whether its spent at home with my husband [who I love so much more than when we married that it doesn't even seem possible] or at dinner with friends or in a grey cubicle. I think that will have a lot to do with a satisfied heart. A heart filled with the Spirit because of time purposefully spent with Him. A heart very opposite of my depleted version from this past year. A heart that doesn't depend on an earthly situation. I also think loosening my grip on the overly premature to-do lists will help while purposefully keeping this crazy brain of mine focused on today. Because today is good, and today is a gift.

to-do

Stop crying after church and home group. Make myself stop drinking Diet Coke. Spend tonight preparing for the movers to assess our amount of belongings on Thursday. Make sure I can go to Ruston next weekend. Stop worrying about the movers sorting through every single thing we own and if they'll destroy my dried wedding bouquet in the process. Get the girl from HR to respond to my "I'm leaving the state so tell me what I need to do" email. Celebrate the completion of D's life-consuming senior project. Develop my "what to do when Molly goes into labor" plan. Catch up with Meg Hope. Stop Googling furniture wants and stop watching the YouTube video of our house. Find time in our impossible schedules to meet with Rebecca. Plan the biggest graduation celebration imaginable for the most deserving graduate imaginable. Make Molly a baby wreath. Purge our belongings. Don't forget to pray for B's job search. Figure out the meaning of a "proper goodbye." Stop eating my feelings. Spend time with the Jenkins clan. Keep future-job-dreaming. Help Abs brainstorm company names. Don't give into my anxiety. Pass on job responsibilities. Attend Cait and Eric's house blessing. Quit playing phone tag with my best friends. Help D send his graduation announcements. Buy wedding gifts. Start dealing with leaving emotions. Let Noah fall asleep on my shoulder again. Stop running out of breath when walking upstairs. Celebrate Mother's Day. Clean every inch of our apartment. Find replacement for our spot on the church's nursery rotation. Stop re-reading the May issue of Country Living. Make South Carolina feel like home.

All of this and more is standing between us and our May 27th move to South Carolina. As much as endings and graduations and new houses and weddings and tiny babies tend to shower me with nostalgia that I absolutely love to swim around in, I feel as though I'm being hurried through those moments by all of this other stuff. All of these other technicalities

As someone who loves to feeeel [and who loves to make others feel as well], I'm currently fearful of not having enough time to really figure out this heart roller coaster of mine in time to be present with my emotions during the move. At the same time, I'm slightly terrified of actually allowing myself to face those emotions because, as excited as we are, saying goodbye to certain faces is going to be nothing short of traumatic.

What I absolutely don't want to happen is to let only what I feel be stress and anxiety over boxes and schedules and not having enough shower curtains. And when I expect my sinner-of-a-self to automatically rest in the Lord, I want to yell "what does that really mean?!" at the redundant, church-girl voice in my head. I should learn what that really means. I'll add it to the list.

For now, I'll remember that my seemingly out of control life is controlled by the One who controls the ticking seconds and the ever-rotating planets and each and every person's blinking eyes and beating heart. He's the same One who knows my crazy brain's need for a "proper goodbye." He's also the same One who knows what we really need and provides it. And the One who can intimidate the heck out of my ginormous very small to-do list.

big news + big changes

No baby, y'all. You'll just have to keep reading for a few more years for that announcement [but my sister did find out this week that they're having another girl! YEA!!].

Come May or June, this little Jenkins family will be, for the first time ever, establishing residence outside of Louisiana. The Lord has so graciously provided a job for D as a mechanical engineer with Albemarle, Inc. in Columbia, South Carolina. Even after telling our families, friends, bosses, and church family, typing this is making it seem even more like reality.

Soon we'll be looking for a place to call home in a city we've never experienced, Google mapping the nearest grocery store, visiting new churches, meeting new faces. I'll probably get lost a bunch, and Dustin will gently explain how to get from here to there once again. Dustin will have an 8 to 5 job and the luxury of being home in the evenings. That will be new. And incredible. We'll constantly pray for direction to a church community and [try to] wait patiently as our faithful Lord provides. We'll be thrilled about finally getting to spend Saturdays together, and I'll start planning all the places we can take day trips to [Charleston, Myrtle Beach, Charlotte, Atlanta, Savannah].

I look forward to meeting those new faces, sitting around the dinner table filled with both low country and Cajun recipes, and experiencing those soul-binding moments when you figure out you have an odd, shared interest. But I know when I remember the faces whose features are etched onto my heart after so much life-sharing, there will be aches. And when I'm shopping over 700 miles away from them and see something that I know they'd like, I'll wish they were there. But, in that moment, I'll be thankful that community has the ability to stretch but survive. And maybe I'll overnight it to them. I've done long distance before, and I'll do it again.

But we're not breaking out the cardboard boxes yet. D doesn't graduate for another 17 weeks, 3 days, 18 hours, 47 minutes and 29 seconds. I'm compelled, more than ever, to truly cherish the time we have left in Baton Rouge, to spend time with our loved ones that are near, to visit parents and grandparents, to get lunch with friends and kiss their babies, to soak up the presence and wisdom of our church community, to get really good at Louisiana cooking, and to actually go to the Baton Rouge Farmer's Market for once. Going is so exciting. And leaving makes me heartsick.

There are very few details right now other than Dustin has the job, and we're moving sometime after he graduates. What is certain and obvious is the Lord's guiding and provisional plan. We both agree that this is the biggest change we've ever made [along with marriage]. When we began the process of praying through the different job options, we wondered if we could be sure. They were all good opportunities, but we didn't just want to pick our favorite. Never have I felt the Lord's guiding hand so strongly on our backs, helping us take the next step until, all of a sudden, the decision was made and the contracts were signed. We are thankful for the assurance and thankful for this faith-deepening experience and thankful for the provision of a job. We are so excited to still be the same distance from my sister and her family which provides and great half-way point for my parents. And we are excited that D's grandmother owns a cabin near our new home, giving all the Jenkinses lots of reasons to road trip.  And we are excited because living in His plan is the best!