Our Hotel

This is my favorite house. I love everything except that the powder room is combined with the laundry, yuck. We need to do some renovations, but it's been nice enough that we'd put them off until the kids were older. We won't need to worry about them at all soon because we are moving. Leaving friends behind has a way of sucking me into depression, so I'm trying to be proactive about finding the good things abut moving. Sorting through cute homes, learning about the great amenities in the Ann Arbor area, enjoying a romantic weekend exploring with my hubby, they all help ease the stress, but they don't eliminate it.

Each step forward dries up the support system I've worked so hard to create. Even my beautiful home is beginning to feel like a hotel. The happy dimples in my schedule on those days I was planning to spend time with my friends are now relegated to Herculean efforts. We'll need new doctors, schools, homeschool group, favorite Mexican joint, church--everything. 

I think when things begin blooming in Ann Arbor it will all get better, but I won't know until it does. I have to step out on faith that there will be a nice house, new friends, new cultural infrastructure. I keep hearing an old hymn "This world is not my home, I'm just a passin' through. If heaven's not my home, O Lord what will I do. The angels beckon me through heaven's open door, and I can't feel at home in this world anymore." It seems that moving is just a warm up for the greatest transition of life. I can't be certain of heaven's embrace with any other certainty than the gift of faith. This life in total is a hotel, a temporary residence.