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On Moving and Standing Still

This morning I am pleased to be sitting in a quiet, sunny living room in Middle Tennessee. The vacation house is intimately familiar as I lived in this log home for five years when my children were very young. We turned it into a vacation home a few years ago, when we moved back to Chicago. I cannot remember it ever being this quiet. In those years, they would wake me up in the mornings, early. We were transplants from Chicago, homeschoolers, maybe more than a little bit isolated. We did not intend it that way.

When we bought this house in middle Tennessee we thought we were meant to form an artist community here. We thought that “if we built it they would come” but though we gave it our best shot, it never really worked out the way we’d hoped.

From our five years in this house, however, we did learn a great deal, we loved some wild moments, we bonded together as a family. I believe that in some ways the time we spent here was the glue that made us so close. We were pressed in toward one another, arms wrapped securely, hands clasped together. It really was beautiful as I look back on it now.

Back then, though, I might not have seen it in just that way. My children were 1, 3, 5 and 8 when we moved here. My husband, for the most part, still worked in Chicago so his commute was epic, to say the least. I was alone much of the time. Trips into “town” whether it was Franklin or Nashville, meant I had to pile all of us into a car and drive at least 30 minutes. Going somewhere would eat up most of my day. We put a whole lotta miles on our car in those years.

When the chance came to move back to Chicago a number of years later, we had formed friendships, deep friendships in fact. It was a hard choice to move. My church home was here, my godmother and the priests who had introduced me to Orthodoxy were here. I was still not chrismated. I was still very much in the throes of conversion. Still, we took the chance because it was the right choice, my husband and I knew it immediately.

Moving is hard, but I’ve gotten quite good at it, having done it so many times through the last 48 years of my life. I’ve done it so much I begin to feel itchy when I see moving boxes, even when they are not mine. I see things piled in my closets at home and in the back of my mind I’m always thinking about clearing out “just in case.”

Moving is hard but standing still is hard too.

Putting down roots and staying put takes some effort after all this moving. Being connected and familiar can be terrifying. Being a part of something bigger, someplace bigger, with more people and better access to grocery stores after years of isolation can be like explorers wandering out from the jungle finally, exhilarating but overwhelming and yes, necessary at the proper time.

I’m not moving from Chicago, at least I do not intend to at this writing. I’m not changing my church home or my commitment to the long and dusty road of Orthodoxy. Thanks be to God. I am, however, moving this blog to join the wider circle of like-minded and yet eclectic folks at  Ancient Faith Blogs, and that’s pretty exciting.

So, this is just to let you know that in the near(ish) future, we’ll be moving. In the background, we’ll be packing the boxes with all the stuff you see here and then unpacking over at AFB. What’s great is that I won’t even have to call and ask you to help me load boxes on the truck or anything. We got professionals for all that. It’s like I’m a grown-up or something. Imagine that!

Once we move you ought to be able to reach me pretty easily at so, that’s great, right? Let’s hope it’s all seamless, keep those professional movers, erm, web designers, in prayer over the coming weeks, my friends. I have a lot of stuff in those closets. Data can be messy.

Thanks for your continued reading and commenting and good vibes-