Today, I am moving from an apartment in one neighborhood of Richmond to a row house on the other side of town. In the past 10 years alone, I have moved seven or eight times, depending on how you count it (I moved in and out of my parents’ house more than once after college). I have moments where I envy those who have managed to spend more than three years of their twenties (my personal best) in one spot. Now more than ever, I feel the urge to nest, to settle in and have furniture that matches and framed pictures on the walls. It’s killing me to pack everything up once again, knowing that it will be months before all of my things have a place again. But I’m also feeling the excitement of discovering a new place, even just a few miles away. I’m excited for new neighborhood walks and bakeries (the best gluten free muffins are just a block away from my door!) and new roommates to relax and watch SNL sketches with. While I hope this move is the last one I make for a while, I am looking forward to the new experiences and people ahead of me.
In one of these posts, I’m sure I’ll talk about that time I moved 4,000 miles to a city where I knew no one, probably the most formative experience of my 20's. But today, in honor of my not-so-big move across town, I am gonna throw it back 20 years to my first major move, which brought me from Florida to Virginia in 1996.
Picture me at 10 years old, tall and skinny and rocking a poofier version of Mary Lou Retton’s haircut circa the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics (a detail that is irrelevant to the story, but too hilarious not to share). After changing elementary schools twice for various reasons (Florida public schools were not exactly centers of scholastic excellence at that time), I was finally in a class and a school where I was making friends and blossoming into the creative, bright, and not too socially awkward girl my parents always knew I could be.
And then ish hit the fan. I remember walking into my parents room one night to find them perusing real-estate catalogues for houses in Richmond, Virginia (remember those things people used to look at houses before Zillow). The cat was out of the bag. My dad had an opportunity to be an FCA state director in Virginia and my parents were selling our house and moving us north.
As far as states go, Virginia and Florida could not be more different. I remember gawking at the “old timey” (Colonial) style of architecture (“Whoa, look at that old timey McDonalds!”) and lack of huge neon signs and billboards as we drove to our new house. No one in our neighborhood had their own pool like they did back in Florida and we definitely couldn’t wear shorts year-round anymore. “When I used to live in Florida...,” became my constant refrain as I shared with my new classmates all of the things that were new and different to me.
Remember, I had only just started to figure out the whole making new friends thing. Unfortunately, telling everyone how different your experiences are from theirs is not really the way to win friends and influence fifth graders, especially in a class where you are one of only a few students who has not attended the same school since kindergarten. Also, the Mary Lou Retton haircut was growing out by then (turns out that detail was relevant to the story!), so you can picture how that year went down.
And then I started middle school. You know that time when kids are SO kind and understanding and never make fun of the weird new kid whose hair still hasn’t figured out what it’s doing.
I’d come home crying most afternoons and my mom would give me a big hug and tell me to that it was ok, and that my family and Jesus loved me very much.
One day, I snapped back at her.
“Yeah, well Jesus can’t talk to me or be my friend.”
“Of course he can. Jesus is the best friend of all. He’s there when no one else is.” was her calm, gentle reply, “You just keep praying and reading your Bible and you’ll hear his voice. It’s a quiet voice, but you’ll know when it’s talking.”
“Yeah, right, mom. That might be how God talks to you, but he doesn’t talk to me, OK!”
Then I probably stormed off crying or something. Puberty was right around the corner.
But wouldn’t you know it, that night I sat down to read my Bible and the first scripture that I came to was Jeremiah 29:11 “For I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you a hope and a future.”
For the serious theologian, Jeremiah 29:11 is like a frosted flake of scripture, sugary sweet inspirational fodder taken out of context and imprinted on every candle holder, graduation card, and pewter bookmark that you ever got from your great aunt Betsy. I’ve heard whole sermons preached on its overuse and misinterpretation. But to my lonely 11 year old soul, it was the breath of God himself.
Skeptics call it coincidence. Mystics might call it intuition or the call of the universe. Non-believers call it baloney. For Christians that moment when a verse, or a song, or a word from a wise friend pierces your soul at the exact second you need it most--that is the voice of God. And that day I heard it for the first time.
Moving to Virginia was not my plan and it did not feel prosperous or hopeful, but God’s word promised me a hope and a future, and I, with the faith of a child, pressed in to that promise. A week or so later, I would hear the Point of Grace song “Jesus Will Still Be There,”* on the radio and know again with absolute certainty that those words were for me, that God was speaking, reminding me that he was on my side.
Eventually, I made some friends other than Jesus and my Mom. But there would be many times in the years to come (especially through the many moves and transitions of my 20’s), when that too-familiar lonely feeling would strike. I think because of my childhood, I’m especially susceptible to feeling excluded and friendless. But no matter how lonely I got, I always had somewhere to turn, believing and trusting that God was still there for me. Because of this, I have been able to make bolder choices. To wander the path less traveled. To move across the country (and back), knowing that I would not be left alone in unfamiliar territory.
I would be lying if I said that I’m not a little nervous about the move today. Even though it’s only 10 minutes uptown, it’s still a transition, with all of the stressors therein. But for the first time in a while, this move is a move towards friendship and community. Jesus will be there, as always, but so will two awesome single women with whom I am so ready to start my 30’s!
*Do yourself a favor and check out the 90’s Christian girl band awesomeness in this video. All those shadows and windows in that under-furnished room. What could it mean???
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