Moving Day

A picture of a tired-looking (but clean!) Sluss in the exact spot from whence I blog on this moving day morning. Merry Moving Day. No Merry Christmas--I am leaving the Christmas stuff behind. I just don't think there's that much room in my apartment. My decorations actually deserve an apartment of their own!

Liann's couch has been pushed to the fireplace to make room for the movers to work. I climb over the side to sit in it like it's the General Lee. Liann has fled to her parents' house to try to catch a nap. It was a long night. She tried to go to bed about 10 p.m., but I was packing over her head until almost 2 a.m. Then we were up by about 5:30 a.m. So now I sit in a corner of my living room, hemmed in by couch and piles of stuff, while six movers pack around me in a flurry I have rarely seen.

I spent a few hours trying to get sleep last night before they came, but most of it was just me with a stomach ache like a 5-year-old who knows they are in trouble. I know I am supposed to go north, but last night was hard. Liann got a stomach ache yesterday helping me pack. And last night, when I finally collapsed on the couch and tried to at least grab a few winks, nothing but undone stuff and silly decisions ran through my mind.

A sampling:

• "Aauughh! I'm never gonna get my suitcase packed for the drive up before they get here at 7:30 a.m. I gotta get underwear outta my bedroom before they pack it all..."
• "What was I thinking agreeing to two years of DSL service in Idaho just to get that reduced rate? The cancellation fee if I dump it early is probably $500!" (Turns out it's $200...still horrid.)
• "Oh geez..Don't forget to unplug everything the movers are moving...gotta do that."
• "Criminey! How in the world did I wind up with this much stuff separated to go into the cars? Good grief..."

You see my fun. Add me cuddled under a blanket with an ice pack on my back and you've got the full vision of beauty. Add some sweat, too. It was warm, but too cool when the breeze came through the window not to be covered up. I was too tired to even move the junk at the end of the couch, so when I would stretch I would just push the remotes and papers and boxes with my feet.

Then part way through this morning I remembered I was supposed to be taking pictures of this process for my mom. Finding two pastel golfballs that had rolled under the couch from her birthday gift in April helped remind me :)

Sitting on the deck and watching things pile up in the driveway and make their way down to the lift gate on the truck (to be shuttled to a much bigger tractor trailer that is parked in a turnout on 330), Liann and I talked about how surreal this is. We think maybe it's like being at your own wedding, where it feels weird that this is really about you, not someone else. Liann thinks maybe it's like being at your own funeral ;)

As I heard the truck come down the street this morning and I headed down the stairs to open the door, I just prayed out loud for everyone's safety, and reminded the Lord that I am not smart enough to handle this. That's good news.

Liann is starting to get peeved that she "can't find &*#%" in the house. I better get on the road tomorrow morning!

Thanks to EVERYONE for their prayers. For both of us!

Apartment Hunt Results

Blah, blah, I haven't posted. Sorry. There. Now we can get down to business.

Just the facts, ma'am:

The home-finding trip to Idaho went amazingly well. God got my disgruntled, worried heart to chill out and enjoy the trip--within just four hours of landing in Boise. Here's a rundown of what happened.

• On the plane to Boise, I happen to mention to Liann that there was one apartment complex I was not able to make an appointment for in Meridian (a suburb of Boise, midway between Boise and Nampa, which is where the office and hangar are). When I called Greenhill (not it's real name ;) the week before, they said they had nothing available, and recommended a few other places to visit. I hadn't brought it up to Liann before the flight--there just hadn't been a reason to talk about the specifics of the names of places where I had made appointments. She was along for the ride to keep me sane.
  
• Liann and I land in Boise at about 1:00 p.m., get the rental car, check in at the hotel (make that an old, cheesy, motel), rest for about 20 minutes, then go to Red Robin for a leisurely lunch.
• Over lunch and three Freckled Lemonades (Boise was in a heat wave), Liann suggests we pick up a newspaper and just check out any individual rentals that might sound worth driving by. I had not made any appointments or plans for Saturday or Sunday. I figured we would take it easy and spend time finding our way around and get me used to reading the Ada and Canyon County street atlas I bought last August. So, why not buy a paper? Sure.
• We cruise around until we find a newspaper machine in front of a Carl's Jr. With the car running and the air conditioner blasting, she peruses one paper and I the other. I circle everything I am finding in my price range, and start to make the first phone call to get an address. As I start to dial, I hang up. I just can't do this--I can't have the same "Hi, my name is Kathie, and I am relocating to the Treasure Valley in about four weeks, and I am interested in your rental listing. May I have the address so I can drive by and see it, and then contact you later if I would like to see inside? I am here until Wednesday...BLAH BLAH BLAH!" conversation 30 times. I have already done this a ton. And what if people aren't nice? And I don't have enough energy to convince them I am trustworthy and will not ruin their house if they give me the address. Uncle, already.
• I remember Moses had to put his staff in the water. God did the whole big story, but he made Moses put his staff in the water at the Red Sea first. Okay, Lord, I'll dial. Here's my staff. Ugh.
• I leave a message at the number. The ad says to call on weekends and evenings, so I figure I lucked out calling on a Saturday afternoon. Turns out I never heard a word from them, but I left the message.
• Immediately after, Liann looks up from her paper and says, "What was the name of the place you said had nothing available?" I told her, "Greenhill." She said, "Well, here's an ad for them: 'Open House, Saturday Only, 10-5, apartments available, call Shirley.' I think we need to call."
• Liann actually called them (unheard of for Liann to use the phone without being forced) and left a message. Two minutes later, the phone rings. It's Shirley. She says to come over, gives me directions, and that she'll be there until 5:00 p.m.
• We arrive at Greenhill at 4:30 p.m. Crusty, older, world-wise Shirley shows us two apartments, and warms up to me and shows me two more. The fourth one is IT.
  
• Upstairs, two-bedroom, one-bath, washer/dryer, fridge, microwave, balcony, faces a little business park and a new high school, only 2 years old and only occupied in the last year for about 3 weeks. It's pristine. I can afford it. AND...it will take my grandma's dining table and hutch. I can't believe it.
• Shirley has shown apartments all day, but tells us she is done, she won't be showing anything else for the rest of the night or on Sunday, and if I come on Monday morning to the office with my credit app and everything checks out, the place is mine. She walks us back to her apartment to fill out the credit app, and as she hands it to me, she starts to write on it and says, "Now, here's your address." Liann whispers to me, "Sluss, it's an address!"
• We head back to the car, and I know it's a God-thing because Liann is so excited she can't shut up (this from a woman who normally takes 48 hours to tell you what she thinks about the burrito she ate for lunch), and I am silent. That's right folks--the Sluss was speechless.

I turned in the paperwork on Monday morning and got a call from Shirley that afternoon while I was at lunch with a friend I made last August, and it was a done deal. Liann and I kept our appointments at the other places that I had arranged, but it was all just a process of confirming that God had taken care of it all right after we got off the plane. It took me about 48 hours to realize that God had not only answered many specific prayers, but had done something that amazed me even more. As we cruised some condo locations in Nampa, I suddenly pulled the car over and started to cry. I had been dreading the trip. It had been prefaced with worry over a million "what ifs" and panic over the idea of making tons of decisions and what if I got one wrong? I had made myself nauseated over it.

It suddenly dawned on me that God had taken care of everything so well that I was actually having a good time. I was enjoying just driving and exploring with Liann. I was overwhelmed at how he had taken care of my heart.

I Reckon It's a Reckoning

From My Utmost for His Highest tonight:

"And Peter...walked on the water to go to Jesus. But when he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid." Matthew 14:29-30

The wind was actually boisterous, the waves were actually high, but Peter did not see them at first. He did not reckon with them, he simply recognized his Lord and stepped out in recognition of Him, and walked on the water. Then he began to reckon with the actual things, and down he went instantly.

I have not written anything in here for over a week not for lack of things to write about or things going on, but rather for the over-abundance of them. It has been 12 days of spiritual and emotional exhaustion. Ever have those stretches where every blessed moment feels like a revelation of some kind?

I am wiped out.

The good news about that tonight, as I sit on my bed and type, hunched over in a way that will give me a backache very shortly (but I have no desire to sit anywhere else), is that I think God worked specifically to get to me to this point in order to face this week, and this coming weekend.

This week will be crazy busy at work, for about 23 reasons that I won't take the time to list. Suffice it to say that when I even think of tomorrow, Monday morning, I want to faint dead away and have someone wake me up in three weeks. I know this week holds a list of activities and people that I cannot keep up with while maintaining an attractive attitude of patience. None of the tasks or people are bad--it's just a lot. And all of it has deadlines.

Then comes Saturday. Liann and I are hurling ourselves into a car to arrive at the airport by 5:30 a.m. to catch a flight to Boise. It's time for my home-finding trip. I have until Wednesday afternoon to find an apartment or house or condo or whatever to move into a month from now, and lots of people to connect with while I am in the area. I cannot express how grateful I am to Liann for coming to help--whew. I can't imagine doing this alone.

Liann sat with me tonight and we made a list of things I would like in my new place to live. This is no small task for someone who has forgotten how to express an opinion to the Lord about anything. In the balance of expressing my heart and wanting His will, somewhere along the line I ditched the dealings with my heart. I think it's a pretty short trip for you to figure out what that has done to my prayer life. Pppbbbtthhhhh. Dry and parched may start to cover it.

It did dawn on me last week, though, that in many of the stories that melt my heart about the Lord, people's needs were meet very specifically, and many times we know it because of what they asked for in prayer. And I know you know me better than to think I am talking about "Where's my new Hummer?" kind of prayers. I mean those that can involve real, material things, but that are really about bigger issues in our hearts.

My big issue right now is leaving. I have fought and fought over trying not to be too sad about this move, and just be brave, and it's all gonna be okay, and being afraid I am not being apologetic enough for being heart-broken for having to leave the people I love most in this fallen world when there are others it has not bugged so much to leave. Well, as my good friend Holly says when she's had enough, I'm done.

I feel sick to my stomach about leaving. It's finally here. I am pretty much incapable of talking about it for more than three sentences without crying. I confess to being a little mad that I am leaving my nephews and niece when one of the things I have wanted most in life is to be an aunt. I know it's ridiculous, but I have thought about that since I was about nine years old. I am excited about new adventure, but I am crushed at the idea of not being around the corner from a mountain-full of people I adore.

Frankly, I did not know it would be this hard. It wasn't a month ago.

Hence, the whole walkin' on water segment at the top. I love that Chambers points out that the storm was already clearly raging away, but Peter just didn't see it when he laid eyes on Jesus. He didn't reckon with water or wind; he just stepped out to follow His Lord. I think that was me in October 2004 when this relocation was announced, and has been me in many ways since then. My answer when people have asked how I feel about "the move" (I am inappropriately sick of that phrase, by the way), has been all about how He will provide, and sure it will be tough in some ways, but it's so clear that I am supposed to go, and it will be okay.

Two weeks ago, I started to "reckon with the actual things". It was time to change utilities out of my name, open a new bank account, clean out my teaching files, deliver things to Goodwill, take note of what I will have to purchase for a place by myself, send farewell letters to churches, make lists of people to invite to going away events.

Today I hit the skids about making phone calls to set appointments for apartment tours. I need to do this tomorrow. My normal thing would be to research to death the places I want to look at, and have as much information as I can possibly garner before I even call, much less visit in person. I have already spent hours and hours online and in rental magazines and talking to people at work who have made their trips. But I know there is more I could do.

"...and down he went instantly."

I can't do it. I just can't anymore. And you should envision that with a resigned shoulder-shrug and sideways head-toss. I have no more brains or energy to throw at this. I can't handle one more moment of pre-home-find-trip preparation.

I think that must mean I have my eyes turning back to Him again. I said yes to the move in the first rush of chasing Him, what Chambers says we need to do by being "reckless immediately." If it's His voice, there is no hesitation with consideration of our circumstance; we are to "fling it all out on Him."

But I confess to taking lots of time lately to consider my circumstances, weigh my options, measure my own abilities, balance my efforts with my own intelligence. It was not enveloped by nearly enough prayer and trust.

So tonight, Liann prayed--I cried. I just cried and nodded while I listened to her praise Him for the perfect love and care He has always provided, and lay before Him my heart, her heart, and a very real need I face in a week--a new home.

And after making no-brainer lists for an apartment like washer/dryer hookups, here is what I really want:

1. A place big enough for people to come stay with me
2. A place that will allow me to bring my grandmother's dining table and hutch that are currently in use at my parents' house (I know it seems silly, but I can't tell you the surge of joy and comfort it brings to think of having those pieces with me.)
   
3. Nice landlords/managers and neighbors
   
4. An address I can come home with from this trip. I truly do not want to be on a waiting list, have to be making a bunch of confirming phone calls over the next month, or wondering if an "opening" will become available before the moving company heads north with my household goods.

Do I know that He will provide a decent home in Idaho? Of course--in the big picture, He always, always provides. For me, at this moment, though, as my friend Amber said recently, sometimes you need to know He is in the small things, like a bedroom and bath for guests, and furniture that has a million memories in it.

For Cryin' Out Loud

I cried almost all the way home from work yesterday. Started at the corner of Alabama and Redlands Blvd. and went right up the mountain. No big deal in the life-scheme of things, I guess.

Except that I hate crying.

I didn't used to, but now I hate the runny nose, the goofy face, the red eyes...and the contact lenses that shrink right up and squeeze your eyeballs to death. Mostly, though, I hate that it indicates to me a loss of control on my part, especially if I am alone. In my mind, I equate loss of emotional control (water from my ocular cavities) with a lack of trust in God's care and sovereignty. This applies to only me, of course. I don't really have any hang-ups about other people sobbing. But, what am I crying about if I know Jesus is Savior and I know He is in charge and that all things work to His glory? Get a grip, Slusser!

So, whaddaya know...Jesus loves to make me cry when I am alone.

Clearly, we're at odds here. You see my dilemma.

My eyes well up the moment I ponder His goodness. His grace. His patience. When He tries to tell me He loves me, and would I hold still for just a minute so He can just say that, and could we not talk business for two seconds. When He tries to tell me that all my oughts, shoulds, and woulds are making me smaller, and draining the life out of me, and by the way, you do that because you compare yourself to everyone around you, and I, your Creator, don't see you that way.

Basically, any time I think about Him in a context other than Him wanting my obedience, I run the risk of tears.

So I often choose not to run the risk. Crying is exhausting. I don't have time for it.

I have stuff to do. Emails to send, lists to make, reports to type, people to call, an apartment to rent, people to pray for, stuff to take to Goodwill, things to think about.

I have an appearance of peace and joy to maintain, for Pete's sake! Crying makes that messy! People are watching.

The good news is, I guess, that yesterday was the first time in a long time that I cried, and let myself keep going, and didn't get mad at myself for it. I suppose that's a growth moment. A watershed moment. Get it? Watershed. Tears, wet, water--stay with me here.

That's my prayer for the moment to Him--stay with me, here. Don't let me run off. Don't let me keep everything tidy and clean, 'cause I can do it, and not in a good way. I have something ugly in me that is capable of turning emotions off and on like a faucet. I discovered it in late 1990, and I have had enough experience with it that it scares me to death. I have it in me to be a machine. I have joked that if I were not Christian, I would be so Utilitarian it would be horrid. But I'm not really kidding. It's in there, and there have been times in my life where the emotional faucet was off, and I found it was easier and easier to let it stay that way, or to flip back and forth between what I decided I would care about and what I would not, as it was convenient for me.

My keep-it-clean, emotional give-a-hoot-don't-pollute theory (actually, I think I should say, practice) does not make me a better person. It does not draw me to God. It does nothing for my soul or spirit. Except maybe shrink it.

In short, me keeping me clean and tidy and hospital-cornered makes a mess.

God in his sweet timing, let me run into the same person yesterday who prayed for me back on May 16. She's the same sister to whom I made some of my statements about dislike of crying about 3 months ago. I told her I wanted to know more about grace and be closer to Him without crying.

She laughed at me. In a good, you-gotta-be-kidding-honey kind of way. Actually, that's exactly what she said at the time. And yesterday, it was like just being able to talk with her was a reminder of that, and the tears started a couple hours later. It was a thorough mix of grief, joy, excitement, weariness, anticipation, trust, awe, release...good and messy. I told her she shakes my tidy little snow globe world every time I see her. Praise the Lord for that.

I think I decided my problem is that I am actually on the verge of tears all the time, so I don't let my heart wander over there, where that happens, 'cause I'd never do anything but cry. Never do anything but not have charge of my own responses and abilities and learning and appearance and and and...

Sounds like a "my power is perfected in weakness" life may be possible after all. I think it's not an optional approach to Him, the fullness of Him, the person of Him. If I want more than fire insurance, I have a feeling this is the only road.

Magic in the Little Things

I was told tonight (in a good way--not like, "Man, you got told!") that sharing about the simple, beautiful, pure things in life is worth it. It was in the context of why I had chosen not to blog (or, more accurately, specifically rebelled against doing it) before now. My answer mostly has to do with not wanting to contribute to the insanity of media noise already in the world. The cacaphony on the internet, radio, satellite radio, podcasts, MP3s, television, cell phones...you name it...drives me nuts, and I think in many ways is deeply unhealthy.

Plus, what the smack do I have to say that anyone gives a rat's tooie-tooie about? But that's another issue...

In response to my musings about whether small, silly things belonged on my blog, my poet-preacher friend pointed out Philippians 4:8--"Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things." Dr. Skaggs said that in the midst of a world of "noise", sharing about the sweet and pure and everyday is magic.

I can't argue with a treasured passage of scripture (as well as the basis of one of my favorite Wes King songs, Good News), or with the value of some joy in the mundane, so here's a tidbit of magic for tonight.

Hope you're ready after this big lead in...

I have an enormous raspberry on my left knee.

It's still humongous today, Wednesday, and I got it on Sunday. It spent the first two nights under a bandage soaked in Neosporin--the kind with the pain killer, 'cause the sheets against it hurt!

Why is it pure, lovely, admirable, excellent? Did I get it rescuing people from a burning building? Did I win the softball title by sliding into home just under the touch of the catcher's glove? Did I wrestle a 500-pound gorilla away from an old lady trying to cross the street?

Nope. Got it giving horsey rides, lots of them, to Poncho, Denver, and even to Born Dancin' (with the help of Joanna propping her up and walking next to me while she rode). I was in comfy new Eddie Bauer shorts, galloping up and down the hallway and through my mom and dad's bedroom and living room on Sunday during our family Memorial Day BBQ.

Aunt Kaffie has a new rule--horsey rides when she is in jeans ONLY! I had no idea that rug burn is like sunburn and worsens as the evening goes along! Yee-ouch!

However, I have also never been prouder of a boo-boo. I think I have worn shorts every day since Sunday just to show it off ;) I feel like a cowboy. I mean, cowgirl.

Um, no. I mean, Trigger.

Common Sense

Go read My Utmost for His Highest today, 05/30. Go on, the link's at the right...go on. Scoot.

Common sense was like a law in my house growing up. "Use your common sense, Kathie." The joke most times, though, was that I had little of it. If you want me to learn something, give me a book. Then assign an essay. If you really need me to absorb it, make me diagram each sentence.

As an adult, the major times of growth in my life, and deep joy despite deep pain, have been when common sense has taken a back seat to faith. I don't mean ignoring things like not walking down the middle of a busy freeway ("You can't kneel down in the middle of a highway and live to talk about it, son."), but like all other good precepts I have been given, I have taken what should be a guide and turned it into a rule. Common sense is a rule if you don't have a God who is telling you that being Indiana Jones with him is far better.

And I like to be Indiana Jones--but my common sense tries to do it in a nice, safe, lots of rope and back-ups and rappelling gear of my own kind of way. He gets little glory in this scenario, of course, I get little joy (because I have been so busy arranging things that did not need my attention), and a thin story is told on the other side where people who don't know my Jesus can attribute the decent outcome to my abilities and talent and some serendipity.

I know better, and I know the difference. I want His stories on the other side. I read last week that Jesus did not come to preach common sense. From Oswald on May 26: The danger with us is that we want to water down the things that Jesus says and make them mean something in accordance with common sense; if it were only common sense, it was not worthwhile for Him to say it. The things Jesus says about prayer are supernatural revelations.

I confess to spending a lot of time trying to arrange the natural and asking Jesus to sprinkle in some supernatural. Pray with me that I will stop it.

Snarfles

I love 1 Thessalonians 5, especially verses 12-28. The instructions are so succinct, and the encouragement so direct. Verse 24: "The one who calls you is faithful and he will do it." Rock on. I have hung out a lot in these verses.

But I cracked up yesterday when I had a little epiphany over verse 14:
"And we urge you, brothers, warn those who are idle, encourage the timid, help the weak, be patient with everyone."

Ummmmm...Guess which side of the above listed group I have always put myself on, not consciously choosing, of course, but just always landed there? Obviously, on the encourager side. ALWAYS. Clearly, though, that means there are timid, weak people out there, who need some patience. Hee hee. That means there are encouragees. Look how I am always on the "do" side and never the "receive" side! Hee hee! Kathie giggles aloud (kind of snarfully-like, almost spraying little dots of spit on the computer screen), in this small, triumphal realization. I betcha, sometimes I am in the weak, timid, needing-patience group. I betcha, sometimes I am supposed to allow myself to be ministered to.

Maybe I am renaming this the "Duh" blog :)