On the Road Again

In this season of waiting, watching and not knowing what’s next, I’ve been slowly making my way through The Jesus Way by Eugene Peterson. In one chapter, he talks about Elijah and how God provided for him in the most unexpected ways, feeding him via ravens by the brook Cherith and then again through the widow offering him her last meal.

“God’s providence is never characterized in broad generalities or in pious abstractions but always in the particular, in the personal, in the recognition of grace in an unlikely time, at an unlikely place…

...And then the brook dries up and providence shows up in a new way.”

I felt the truth of that statement deeply, as I read that chapter around the same time we realized that there were no houses we wanted to buy and no more houses we could afford to rent near our hometown. God’s provision for us at home had dried up and we were nowhere near ready. Even though we’d been home long enough to celebrate the holidays, eight birthdays, and a wedding, it didn’t feel long enough. We didn’t want to travel again until at least May and we had failed in our mission to find a stable home base. Despite our feelings about it all, God made it clear that it was time for us to move on.

So we followed the breadcrumbs of his provision northward. For now, he has brought us to Midway, Kentucky, a tiny town in the middle of the rolling green hills of racehorse country. Charming old homes surround a small but vibrant downtown. Churches from every denomination occupy their respective corners of the neighborhood. We hear the bells of one of them marking the passing of time, precisely seven minutes ahead of every hour.

We've swapped the huge kitchen island and micro-shower of our last house for a cramped kitchen and a luxuriously large shower in this house, making some parts of our days harder and some parts much easier. As we hoped, we’re traveling without the trailer this time, meaning 90% of our creature comforts and just-in-case supplies were left behind in Georgia. We seem to be doing ok with less stuff. The biggest challenge so far was rolling out a pie crust with a can of diced tomatoes.

Instead of five acres of peaceful woods, we’re enjoying a tiny, semi-urban oasis, a lovely yard blooming with redbuds and dogwoods, and so many birds. When we first arrived, we found the house already occupied by a pair of doves nesting under one eave and a pair of robins under another. The mama dove seldom leaves the nest. Other than an occasional shift change, we’ve never seen the nest unoccupied. No matter what ruckus the kids are creating on the porch, she stays. Steadfast. The robin flies off at the slightest interruption, scolding us from a nearby tree until the coast is clear. The doves' diligence was rewarded when their eggs hatched over Easter weekend.

The boys are again getting a taste of life closer to the way I grew up, riding their bikes around the town and coming home when it gets dark. We’re teaching them what blocks are and how to count them so you always know where home is. One day, I looked out the window and saw our youngest talking to the lady who lives across the street. When he came home, he told me he had made a new friend. A few days later, he and his brother were out there with pruners and loppers, helping her clear her overgrown fence line. They started first thing in the morning and worked until dark. Moments like that remind us why we’re doing this.

We found another generous community library happy to hand us a library card and send us home with a stack of books as if we belong here. There's a playground right down the street and another park with miles of trails that wind around horse pastures and over a creek into a wood that reminds me of Terabithia.

We’ve met at least half a dozen cats on our walks around the town. Our favorite is a little black and white fluffball we named Muffin because she’s tiny and adorable and we found her on Muffin Street. She even comes to the door sometimes when I’m cooking dinner.

Since we’re surrounded by all these beautiful horse farms, we’re trying to convince our youngest to go horseback riding before we leave, but he’s pretty scared. How many of life's greatest joys lie just outside our comfort zone? How many of our most treasured memories happen when we take the brave step over the threshold of fear and say yes to the thing that simultaneously terrifies and excites us?

I never would have picked this place on purpose. We landed here because it was a house that met our needs and fit our budget. It is a gift. Our time with friends and family at home was a gift. I'm overflowing with gratitude for all of it.