Magic

Let's talk about magic for a minute.  Not the Hogwarts magic (although definitely amazing).  I want to talk about the kind of magic that happens in the ordinary world around us.  The kind of magic that gives you goosebumps, the kind of magic that births dejavu, the kind of big magic that happens within us when everything comes together.

I'm a believer that magic comes to you when you need it most.  Like a breath of air when you're drowning.  On the road so far we've had a lot of highs and lows.  Much like the rolling hills that we travel down.  Times of pure magic.  Times of exhausted darkness.  We've seen more sunsets, sunrises, and stars than we have in years.  We've had more long talks and held gazes.  We've also snapped at each other and been on the edge of losing it more than we have in awhile.

We had set up camp after a particularly long day.  Lucy June had just not wanted to be in the truck.  She clung to my chest laughing and crying at the same time when I opened the door to try to put her in her car seat.  It's heart wrenching.  She cried off and on all day thanks to fatigue and four giant molars cutting their way into her mouth.  When we arrived at camp she was done. 

Sometimes distraction is our best friend.  So she and I embarked on a small hike.  We soaked in the sun, the new green of spring, and became flush with exertion.  But by the time we came back we were both done.  No one knows the fatigue of being on the road until you do it.  And we were all feeling its full weight that night.  By the time we had made it through a screaming dinner and put her to bed, Zach and I sat in a crushing silence.  Fatigue is also the bringer of doubt.  It whispers to you about your faults--your insecurities--your regrets. 

Out of the darkness glided a Luna moth.  Silent and gliding making large graceful loops into the lamp light.  It mesmerized us.  Brought us out of our own selfish thoughts to gaze at its translucent beauty.  It was magic.  The magic of childhood summers and teenage twilights.  That deep breath of fresh air.  Big magic in small ways. 

On Leaving

"You really were made to do this," my Mom laughs as we sit on our old sunken couch.  She's in for a couple days to help babysit as I try to shove the parts of our lives we want to hold on to into plastic bins.  Zach is another world away.  Taking in the vast West and battling alternators on lonely roads.  

She and I were reminiscing about all our family camping trips.  In the summer we would pile in our van and head for the mountains.  Windows down and the cool mountain air catching our voices as we would sing.  Yup, we were that family.  We joke that our family is cursed.  We never had a family camping trip that didn't get rained on.  And by rain I mean drought breaking, record making monsoons.  Some of my earliest memories are splashing around in puddles with my barbie in hand.  My parents stubborn determination to make the most of each trip kept us there.  We didn't pack up and go home.  We made the most of it.  Always.

 
I come from a heritage of campers and adventurers.  My Mom and Dad both got it from their parents; boy scouts, girls scouts, troop leaders, back packing, and long road trips to Alaska.  It's deep down in me.  A longing.  

All the same giving up roots is hard.  After years of being a Pastors kid and moving, I never expected to stay in one place very long.  But after eight years, Knoxville has made an impression on me.  It's been a place of firsts.  First house we owned, first place as a married couple, first renovation, and first child.  Those things are hard to let go of, but it's the little things that really sink their hooks into you.  The smell of our front door, the creak in the hardwood floors, the way the morning light streams into our daughters bedroom, the cool shade in the garage in the afternoon.  Knowing where I'm going when there is a year of getting lost ahead.  

People are always the hardest though.  We have been fortunate to have a village of family and friends in Knoxville that support and help us on a daily basis.  They believe in us.  And it's their faith that makes leaving, and the knot in my throat when I think about leaving them, easier.  After years of moving I know that people like that in your life, stay in your life.  Your life is more beautiful because of them.  I've always thought that in some ways I have been lucky to move throughout my life.  Along the way I have met amazing people and gathered them close to me.  I take them with me to the next place and they embolden me.  

Leaving is hard.  That's the simple truth.  The longing inside of me gives me confidence that this is right for us.  That I have been waiting for a trip like this.  That maybe I was even made for it.  To continue to pass on that heritage to our daughter.  To show her how to make the most of it.  Always.