The journey

The reality of nine people schlepping from house to house looks pretty much like you’d imagine: cranky toddler, dirty clothes busting out of  a once-carefully packed box, too many Annie’s fruit snacks, teenagers unable to peel themselves from their sleeping bag before breakfast. This has been a good trip, but it has also been a test of our ability to roll with the random joys and pains of a life unsettled.

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So far, I think we’re doing o.k. We’re tired, yes, but we are grateful. We are ready for our own beds, but we are excited at the opportunity of each new day. We are growing less enamored with our enforced togetherness, but we are adding, daily, to the long list of “in jokes” that define our particular flavor of family culture.

As I write this, I am sitting on a southbound train leaving the state of Virginia. Nine days into a 26 day adventure, I’m learning more about my people– and myself– that I knew before we boarded our first plane in Seattle. I have discovered that Phineas can handle the transitions better that I had dared to hope– even when the cost is an increase in disorganized neurological functions. I have watched Jack– my extrovert– turn inward as his people-o-meter finally nudged towards “full” for the first time in his life. I have been personally overcome with emotions (and brought to tears) no fewer than three times. I have found that we are, as a family, both more unique and more common than I knew. I have seen my quiet, stoic Mathaus rise to the occasion and embrace new friends, and felt my heart leap with joy as Mary Hannah has discovered girls who speak her language.

This trip has been revealing and challenging. It is, somehow, draining me even as it fills me up. As we creep towards the half way mark, I find myself wondering what more Is in store for me, and for us. This trip, I’m finding, is less about saying goodbye, and more about having my eyes opened to God’s provision. That is both terrifying … and thrilling.