Packing Up and Moving On
There’s a scene from The Office (Yes, the American version, because I am not a fancy man) in which actor Steve Carell, playing office manager Michael Scott says his philosophy is:
Don't ever, for any reason, do anything, to anyone, for any reason, ever, no matter what, no matter where, or who, or who you are with, or where you are going, or where you've been, ever, for any reason whatsoever.
And that is how I feel about moving. If I had any advice to give you, it would be very similar to the quote above. Don’t do it. For any reason. For any reason whatsoever.
I hate moving so much.
So very much.
We moved last week.
May through early July are already crazy between all the holidays and birthdays in my family. This year we decided to add moving houses on the most sweltering days I can remember experiencing.
We actually moved for a great reason, and we’re in a great house, so I’ll tone down the complaining. We needed a place with something like an apartment attached as my dad will be moving down this way, and it just so happened that there was a good fit within our same neighborhood!
We might be a mile up the road. I am probably going to accidentally turn into the new owner’s driveway multiple times as I pass it everyday.
Of the many excellent and inscrutable reasons to hate moving, the top of the list is that it usually just makes me sad.
I hate barren walls that used to hold the smiling faces of people I love. I hate empty rooms that were only a moment ago full of giggling kids. I hate feeling like life just goes on and everything can be erased in a flash.
I wasn’t sure what I’d feel about leaving this house, though. The previous house was where we brought home our two boys from the hospital. The one before that was my daughter. They held plenty of hard moments, but also positive moments- sensing a calling, finishing grad school, ordination, etc.
Hardly any “triumphs” of that sort happened in this house, though. I’ve written about some of the sadness of the past year, but it actually comes on the heels of another two years that were very difficult for different reasons. And yet, I can’t help but feel happy when I think about the times in that house (and therefore I got a bit sad to leave it).
Every time I drive past it, I’m going to see our kids running through the yard, exploring beneath the huge cypress trees, pretending to be some medieval or wild west character and having the time of their lives.
They experienced the pain too.
They are quite resilient, and we have boundaries, and enough wisdom to not share the depths of our emotional experiences with them, but they felt it- at least some of it.
And yet, the overarching feeling I get when I think of that house is not the weight my confusion, hurt, loneliness, or sadness but JOY. I’m telling you, the rooms and halls of that place were just echoing and bursting with LAUGHTER!
These have been some of the hardest years of my life.
These have been some of the best years of my life.
Go figure.
It’s almost like joy can coexist with mourning and pain. That’s good, because there’s certainly more difficulty to come. As C.S. Lewis said, “We were promised sufferings. They were part of the program. We were even told, 'Blessed are they that mourn,' and I accept it.” Suffering isn’t pleasant to think about, but we probably ought to, since it’s a guarantee.
I’d like a reprieve year. Or a few…
I know after a while, something hard will occur, though.
And like Lewis I don’t believe difficulty is just a random occurrence, but instead part of the plan of a God who loves. Somehow he is giving himself to me through the pain, which is why Biblical writers can say things like, “we rejoice in our sufferings.”1
That phrase still seems mystifying, honestly. Yet, I can look back on the last three years and think of the reality of that house, overflowing with laughter, and recognize that joy doesn’t have to move out, just because lament moves in.
But as for me and my house, I’m never moving again. Ever. For any reason. Ever. No matter what. No matter where, or who, or who I’m with, or where I’m going, or where I’ve been. Ever. For any reason whatsoever.
I’ll probably eat those words. But if I do, I now know there can be joy… even in moving.