Goodbye Baby Roots

We’ve made our home in the woods for just shy of three years, and so, as these things go, it is time we pull up our baby roots this summer and make our way to San Antonio, Texas.

You heard it right, my Texas-flag tattooed, Rudy’s BBQ obsessed, cowboy boot wearing, hill country loving, die hard Cowboys fan is going home and we are along for the ride. We are overjoyed to be heading west, as we will be in the same city as family for the first time in our married life. (LOOKOUT GIGI, HERE WE COME!!)

It’s a bittersweet ride, though. It always is, fraught with goodbye, tears, and more change for our bigs, for whom change is really, really hard.

I have a complicated relationship with Northern Virginia, but there is no denying the friendships forged over MOPS tables, bus stop conversations, and sweltering swim meets. And while I will miss the woods and the chickens and the grace that comes along with my hallelujah chorus in the fall … our little baby roots were in the relationships we’ve come to cherish.

To our new Virginia friends: You’ve shepherded me through multiple meltdowns, postpartum anxiety, family challenges, and the loss of friends. You’ve shown up on our doorstep with meals, you’ve cared for and loved on our children, answered my frantic medical questions, and fed us on more than one holiday occasion. Even as I’ve been overwhelmed by the scale of our city, you’ve modeled intentional community at the most intimate level. As Virginia fades in our rearview, your threads will shine bright in our story, forever and always. We are better because of you.

We’ve been given good gifts here. Partially because most everyone our age in the military rotates through the greater military district of Washington, creating the opportunity to see old friends along with making new ones. There’s something to be said for the comfort of an old friend, and there were a few over the last three years that we would have been lost without.

To the ones we’ve known and loved: You bear us up. When I walk in and sink into your couch and we skip right to the important stuff because you know my stories, and words aren’t always necessary. When you know what our children looked like 7 years ago because you loved us well then too – when you were the new ones then, starting a thread to be picked up time and again. When we sneak away for the weekend to talk about who we were a whole lifetime ago and pray together for all the days ahead. When you entrust us with your deep grief, and your great joy (and make us godparents). When you speak the language we speak of memory and missions and moments that no one else could possibly know. We are better because of you.

Yes, it’s PCS season here, so if you need me, I’ll be neck deep in the closets, throwing away ALL THE THINGS and trying not to cry. Or daydreaming about how I’ll rearrange the furniture in our yet to be determined new living space … and trying not to cry.

I’m sure there’ll be lots more to tell in the coming days (we don’t leave ’til June) … stay tuned for all the riveting updates on how many bags of trash I get rid of, how many actual tears flow, and more of the gratitude that comes from the grace we’ve received here in our literal neck of the woods.

~M.