I first met Abby online in a blogging group. We quickly discovered that we had a lot in common, and I was thrilled when she asked me to be a part of a new blogging tribe she was starting. Several months later, I am so thankful for her presence in my life, for the way she leads, and for the way she challenges me to be better in so many ways. I love her blog, Winstead Wandering, and all of the great recipes and words she shares on it, and I'm so excited for her to tell her story on the blog today! Thanks for sharing, Abby!
Every time I think I know how my life is going to go, God
taps me on the shoulder and says, “Wait just a minute. Let’s try
my plan.”
Stubborn person that I am, I never see it coming and I usually fight it, which
is exactly what I did in 2012 when my husband told me he wanted to sell our
house and move 3000 miles across the country.
Even though I grew up in Oregon, I spent many summers in
Mississippi visiting family. During those visits, I’d often spend time with
Jon. On a trip the summer before my senior year of high school, I visited and
fell in love with Mississippi College, a small Christian university just
outside of Jackson. When I arrived on campus my freshman year, Jon was
beginning his sophomore year and we started to date.
We married three years later and, six months after that,
decided to move to Oregon, where all of my immediate family lived and where I
dreamed of raising our family. Jon was understandably hesitant about the idea,
so we made a deal: I’d spent four years in Mississippi with him, so he’d spend
four years in Oregon with me, and then we’d decide together what our future
looked like.
In October of 2012, a few months after the three-year
anniversary of our move to Oregon, Jon and I went for a walk around our
neighborhood. We were having one of our
weekly date nights and my grandmother was watching our two kids.
Our pony-sized black lab was pulling me along the sidewalk
when Jon broke the news that he wanted us to move back to Mississippi. He
outlined a compelling argument: he wasn’t happy in Oregon and he didn’t think I
was happy, either. I’d recently applied for a position with the city and had
progressed pretty far into the process before ultimately not getting the job.
Jon had prayed that the city job would be a sign, that I’d be hired if we were
meant to stay in Oregon.
He also brought up our current employment situation: I was
working more than full-time in a banking job I hated and Jon, having just
finished his Master’s in Education, had been unable to find a full-time
position so he was subbing in our local school district.
I was so angry at Jon for even suggesting we move. For so
long, I’d envisioned my children attending the schools I attended. I had
imagined them being in classes with the children of my former classmates. I’d
pictured celebrating birthdays and random Tuesdays with my parents and siblings
and nephews.
I don’t remember how strongly I voiced my opposition to the
idea during that walk. I did make it known that I didn’t want to move, but Jon
made a strong case and he had been praying about the situation for quite some
time. I promised to pray about it, too.
I think, in the back of my mind from that very first
conversation, I knew we would move. I don’t remember the precise moment I
became consciously aware that I was in agreement with Jon. I remember praying
fervently for guidance and for wisdom, and I remember vividly the ultimatum Jon
issued at the end of our walk: “I can’t be happy here.” It wasn’t a statement
meant to induce guilt. It was simply raw honesty that, looking back, had been a
long time coming.
When I first agreed to move, I was not a co-conductor of the
move-to-Mississippi train; I was just a reluctant passenger, acquiescing
to the needs of my husband. My only condition was that we wait until the
following summer. I didn’t want to rush out of Oregon as if we were running
from something. I wanted to say thorough goodbyes to everyone in my life and
treasure a few more holidays with my family.
That plan lasted until the moment Jon’s long-term sub
position ended. He spent the first several weeks of the school year subbing for
a teacher on maternity leave. When she came back to work and he called other
districts to put his name on their sub lists, he discovered those lists were
closed. The income we expected to be earning from him substituting in six
different school districts vanished.
We also began to realize how impractical our plan to move in
June was. If Jon was going to get a teaching job in Mississippi, it made sense
for him to be there in the spring to apply for jobs, schedule interviews, and
get his name out through being a substitute. We bumped up our move date by six
months.
My attitude at that point could best be described as
begrudgingly onboard. I no longer felt like an unwilling participant, but I
still didn’t see the big picture. I didn’t understand how the move was the best
decision for our family, but I trusted my husband to lead us and I trusted God
to see us through. My thoughts and emotions during that time were often
confusing and overwhelming, but I remember a sense of peace that seemed to
mostly overwhelm the fear and doubt.
By Thanksgiving, we’d decided to begin the drive to
Mississippi on December 28. When we flew to Mississippi the second week of
December for Jon’s sister’s wedding, he had two interviews, including one at
the very same high school he graduated from. Even though it’s nearly unheard of
for schools to hire teachers mid-year, that’s exactly what happened: Jon was
hired to start after Christmas break.
Having the burden of unemployment lifted was the second
bright spot for me. The first was the house my in-laws found for us. We got to
walk through during the trip and I fell in love with the big front porch and
the real hardwood floors. I could see my family living there and that was a big
deal.
The Lord clearly had His hand on the entire process. Our
kids, ages two and five months at the time, did astonishingly well on the four
day, 2800 mile drive from Oregon to Mississippi (700 miles a day; can we take a
minute to appreciate that?).
Looking back, the move that felt so rushed was actually a
good thing. It would have been torture for me to attend months of family
gatherings and think “this is the last Mother’s Day I’ll celebrate here with my
mom… this is the last time I’ll celebrate my birthday here…” We had a perfect
amount of time to say good-bye and gather with family without feeling like we
were all saying a sixth month long goodbye.
The opportunities we’ve had in the three years we’ve been in
Mississippi- teaching at the same school, building a home, making memories with
Jon’s grandmother before she passed away last year- have been overwhelming in
their abundance. There are so many things I miss about Oregon, but there isn’t
a single doubt in my mind that the life we have here is what God intended for
us.
If I did have any doubt about God’s plan for our move, it
vanished as I stood on the front porch of our new house a few weeks after we
moved in. I noticed how worn the house numbers looked and I recalled the
recently unpacked numbers we’d purchased, but never put up, for our home in
Oregon. They were 1-2-0-5. Our new address? 2-0-5.
Abby is a teacher, momma, and wife, and you can read more of her story on her blog, Winstead Wandering, where she shares about food, life, teaching, and blogging. You can also follow her on her Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter. Like this Moments post? Check out the others in the series. If you're interested in contributing, please complete this form with what you'd like to write about. I can't wait to see your ideas!
Currently,
Kelsie
