Roller Coasters.

I stand in line for hours to ride a roller coaster. Once I finally get to my turn, I will even wait a few extra minutes to get in the front seat. Then, with my husband next to me, I grab the bar in front and scream for nearly 3 minutes straight. 

Why do we do that? 

Our life right now is a lot like a roller coaster. 

Lots of ups, downs, unexpected curves and spiritual screaming. (is that even theologically sound?!).

The Lord reminded me today that I actually like roller coasters. That He is the Great Designer of the ultimate Thrill Ride. That He designed this particular ride (this season) with me in mind. I have waited for months for the ride to begin. Anticipated and dreamed of the fun, but also questioned the safety and wisdom.

Why do we do this?

Now, as the cart leaves the gate, and we have survived the first initial plummet into this new life, I realize that I'm not alone in the front car. In addition to John, the Lord very much wants to ride this ride, which He created, with me.

And one more thing.
The Lord may have actually asked me to stop screaming long enough to enjoy the ride.

Why do I do that?

Toaster.

Can't find it.
Anywhere.

We moved last week. A few days later our stuff moved. I sort of thought it would feel more like Christmas. 359 boxes, all for me to open!!!

Only, not so much. I lost interest after the first 9 boxes. It's not really Christmas if you already know what's in the box. And to be honest I just don't consider used rugs, flashlights without batteries and melted chocolate chips as great gifts.

We have hit a critical point in the unpacking process. It has to do with adrenaline, inertia, and gravity.
Bottom line: we are tired.

And we are without our toaster. Brave Little Toaster. Where are you? Are you somewhere in a box marked "Garden Tools"? or have you been dispatched to a child's room with a bunch of Transformers? or, perhaps the very worst has happened to you... maybe my generous neighbor, who helped me pack my kitchen up north, claimed you as a 'door prize' and is now enjoying my bagels.

So. We can't find it.
Anywhere.

First.

Today is the first.

The first welcome.
The first introduction.
The first new neighbors.
The first mail in the mailbox.
The first hug.
The first phone call.
The first missed turn.
The first night in the new house.

The first day I will cry all day.

We have lift-off.

Final.

Today is the final.

The final party.
The final day.
The final night.
The final meal.
The final hug.
The final laugh.
The final song.
The final dance.
The final scene.
The final prayer.

The final final.

T minus 1 and counting.

Milk and croutons.

As we prepare to move we are eliminating ‘stuff’. Even food stuff. Cleaning out the fridge and the pantry. Buying only what we need this week, eating what we already have.

So essentially we are down to milk and croutons. Not a tasty combination. Not a really good match either. Milk is innately perishable, dated and needs to be consumed in a timely manner. Croutons have the shelf life of cheeze whiz. Seriously. How do you know when a crouton goes bad? It gets harder? It dries up? It breaks a tooth when you bite it?

Maybe moving is a lot like milk and croutons. Facing the rapid evaporation of life here. Unable to preserve this life. Like trying to hold milk in the palm of your hand. But still consuming this life and getting great nourishment from it.

And confident that there are croutons. Little chunks of life here that will travel well with us, stories that will add flavor where we go, and memories that have an unending shelf life.

Maybe milk and croutons really do go well together.

T-Minus 6 and counting.