The wrench

Things were going smoothly. I was feeling comfortable. I should have known better.

This week we got some bad news. Due to circumstances with the condo we're renting that are beyond our control, we have to move. Our lease is expires in a little over a month and then we have to pack up and settle into a new place for our two remaining years here in southern California.

This time the Navy won't be doing the moving for us. It's our responsibility. Oh, and I'll be about seven months pregnant and we have a vacation planned for what would likely be our move-in time frame. This is not ideal.

It isn't a total surprise. A potential move has been in the cards since we signed our lease here and agreed to rent from another military family who also is at the mercy of a transient career. They plan to return to our (really their) happy nest soon and were considerate enough to let us know well in advance. This candid communication about their plans is an answer to my specific prayers about our situation. The moving part, however, is not what I had in mind.

So here we are, just one year after N pounded the pavement, looking for the perfect home for our little family, and we're doing it all over again.

I think about it all day long. I pore over classified ads and Craigslist pages. We take extra long routes home after we've been out, just to weave through the neighborhood in search of "for-rent" signs. What makes this search especially tough is that we're adding another person to our family, so our search options (those with extra room) are getting more expensive.

In the midst of this I'm trying to display contentment and faith to my children. I'm trying to show them that this is a time when we need to trust God to help us find the right home and to be patient while we work at it. I'm failing miserably at this.

I become easily irritated with restless children wiggling in their carseats while N and I hop in and out of the car on after-dinner drives to sneak around empty buildings and peer through windows, sizing up bedrooms and kitchens. I can't keep my mind from wondering about unturned stones while I help little fingers assemble jigsaw puzzles. And this could be our reality for another month or two.

I keep reminding myself that we'll be all settled into a new place by the time we're headlong into Halloween-costume plans. We'll roast a turkey in an oven that we'll have figured out by late November. Our baby will arrive to a shiny new homestead, where a Christmas tree will light up the perfect corner of some yet-to-be-seen living room. I can see it. It smells good and feels warm. The picture just looks a little blurry from where I stand.