In A Field

We are saying good-bye. Packing up our little family. Putting familiar things into cardboard boxes. Sealing them shut with nasty packing tape. Dreading the thought of tearing through that plastic frustration to get our stuff out again. Our life is a bit upside down. The house looks like it's been ransacked by a clumsy burglar who was uncertain of what he should take and what he should leave. Odd combinations of things sit in a pile waiting to be put in a proper place. Normal household chores have been put on hold while we wade through the disjointed contents of our homey house. This saying good bye is somewhat easy in the grand scheme of things. We have control over our going. We get to choose where we'll live, what schools our children will attend, what side of town we'll live on. We can even decide what furniture gets to come with us and what item will be written up in a hastily posted ad on kijiji. We get to leave as a family. Our physical home displaced, if only ...

Twelve years ago we piled our belongings into our two door Ford Escort and a cube truck.  The two of us, with the promise of a third in 9 months.  We didn't know then what we were coming to, how we'd grow and change in our new home.  We were excited to move closer to family, to familiar territory, to new faces and new ministry.  I remember plainly how at home we felt the moment we set foot into our church.  From the first interview we knew we had "come home".  They welcomed us as though we had always been a part of their family.  We quickly settled in.  Warmed by this wonderful group of folks who were as excited for us to be here as we were to be with them.  I remember one of them commenting during a gathering that first summer we moved here- "It's like you've always been here".  A compliment.  An encouraging word for a young new pastor and his wife.  We were tickled. B...