I am sitting in the smallest plane I've flown in heading to Roanoke, Virginia. My stomach still trembles from the landing of our last flight. The pilot informed us of heavy fog in the area, which kept us from seeing any lights shining in cities below, my favorite part of flying at night.
The lights in the cabin flared to life as flight attendants walked down the aisle requesting we turn our electronic devices off for the landing. After assuring several passengers this would help the pilot land the plane safely in the heavy fog and facilitate communication with the tower at the Charlotte airport, I waited for a rough landing. We waited longer than I expected to begin our descent until I looked briefly out the window to my right to see the landing strip suddenly in view and alarmingly close. My heart pounded and hands gripped the armrests while I heard the sounds of landing gear extracting itself from the innards of the machine. Within seconds that felt like minutes the back wheels smacked tarmac, and we were safely on the ground.
You may be wondering why I'm telling you this story about a plane landing suddenly in the dense fog on a trip to Roanoke. Our story begins about two weeks earlier when Ryan got a phone call offering him a job in the area. He called me right after in shocked happiness to tell me the news. We'd been searching for jobs outside Memphis for a while now. We expected their offer letter by email that evening with the answer to a question about a relocation package. The letter didn't come that night or the next night. Or the night after that. We waited anxiously for a full ten days, wondering if perhaps they had "gone in another direction," as I have been informed so many times before.
I prayed for peace, assurance and a sign. I prayed for opened doors and opportunities for both Ryan and me. I had a phone interview on Wednesday of our waiting week asking about the possibility of an in-person meeting on Friday. About five minutes before this phone interview I received another phone call asking the same question. Thursday found us bound by car and about ten hours to Roanoke from Memphis. The interviews went well, better than anticipated, and we left Roanoke to wait again.
Monday finally came with the hope of some word from Ryan's potential job opportunity and began my week of anticipated joy. Ryan left for work in the morning with a kiss and a promise to drive safely. Right after lunch I got a text reading, "So, I got the offer letter! But relocation is not provided."
Hand-in-hand with our joy over the opportunity and excitement of something new were worries about moving expenses and financial burdens. It was truly amazing how quickly our minds turned from praising and thanking God for His providential timing and blessing to worries about what was to come. How fast we are to leave the warm glow of a loving Father to the cold, hard realities outside His presence.
The days following the official offer letter's arrival have felt surreal and wildly fast. It's not real enough to wrap my mind around the fact that we're leaving Memphis, but real enough that I know we'll be happy in Roanoke. We always had a feeling we would leave our beloved bluff city, but we never knew where we'd be led next or how quickly we'd have to leave. We have a little less than a month before we move, but move we shall.
As much as I didn't think I was attached to our house in Memphis, I'm feeling sad to leave it. It was the first place we lived, the first place we had our animals, and the place where our two separate lives became one. It was our launchpad into marriage. It's where we put in hard work to make the brick walls into a home, to make it a place of safety, a place where no pretense was necessary, and the facade could fall away. I will miss that house because it was home, but I will move on to the next one knowing it will be home.
Comments