Dust bunnies from heaven

God works in mysterious ways. He uses people, songs, scripture. And sometimes he uses dust. Great big, gigantic dust bunnies.

Our oldest graduated from college the first of May and began moving into his new apartment shortly thereafter. It was a gradual process, so gradual I could almost pretend wasn’t happening. But when the moving truck pulled up to take his bedroom furniture and all the boxes that had been piling up in said child’s room, the process hit me right between the eyes.

Pretty hard to ignore your kid is moving out when two young guys from a moving company are hauling out all his possessions, including the bed we gave him for his second birthday:

As the tears began to flow, (you're all shocked, I'm sure) I went up to the now-empty bedroom to vacuum. It's my thing - I love to vacuum. It's weird. I know, but the lines in the carpet are quite satisfying. And at that moment, I needed something to take my mind off reality.

As soon as I entered his room, a new kind of reality hit me: the kind that says, “You may say you like to vacuum but you aren’t very good at it!” Because the dust where the bed used to be was at least an inch thick:

Taking the bed down which exposes...

all this dust.

My tears immediately dried up as I faced the horror of my terrible housekeeping. I spent the next 30 minutes vacuuming. And in that time, I got my act together and had a good laugh at how gross the carpet was. And that translated into more good laughs throughout the day.

We got him moved out and settled in and shortly thereafter he started his Big Boy Job. And in the weeks since the move, I've been dry-eyed and pleased as punch for my first-born.

Who knew dust bunnies would help get me over the crying jag I've been on for, oh, four years?

I am thankful for the dust bunnies. I'm thankful for the way God used them to bring humor to the day I'd been dreading. But I think that little bit of reality calls for some serious spring cleaning because while it was comical at the time, I am so so totally grossed out that I can barely stand it. Watch out dust bunnies: I'm coming for you!

Semi-composed-ish

Considering how many tissues I trashed during his high school graduation, the fact that I did not shed one single tear during Michael’s college graduation was a major accomplishment. I thought I had conquered the tear ducts. I was in control of the crying! Hip, hip, hooray!

I was wrong.

Seems those tear ducts must have felt neglected over graduation weekend and last week they decided to make up for lost time. Was I alone in my home where I could cry in peace? Was I alone in my car? Was I at least somewhere alone? Oh, of course not. I was at the bank. The bank of all places! 

Michael and I went to local branch to separate our accounts. Ten years ago he opened a checking account under our names. Each time I checked my account online, I could check his. At one point that was helpful; now, it’s completely unnecessary. Plus, now that he’s getting paid for his big boy job, it feels a little mom stalker-ish. And that is not the vibe I’m going for right now.

When we got to the bank, I confidently walked up to the teller, explained that my son just graduated from college and we needed to take him off our account and have him open his own. The minute the words left my lips I teared up. Big, glassy tears that just spilled right onto my checks. The teller stood there dumbfounded. Michael, now used to the spectacle, just patted me on the back.

The teller walked away to get some paperwork – I think she just left to give me a chance to compose myself. And I did. Thankfully there was a box of tissues at one of the teller stations, so I was able to blot away the moisture and get myself together. By the time she came back with a new signature card, I was calm, cool and collected. We finished the business at hand and walked out the door.

I would like to say that was an isolated incident. I would really, really like to, But when we got home, I had to call the moving company to schedule the truck. When the lady on the phone said, “Because this move is over 40 miles, we consider it a long-distance move…”

Thank goodness for tissues.

My MI Anniversary

Last Friday marked the 10^th anniversary of our move to the Great Lake State. A decade. Three thousand six hundred fifty-two days. A bazillion seconds. No matter how you count it, it’s a long time.

Y’all know the story – Sean got transferred, we packed up our stuff, our three babies and ourselves and moved 800 miles away from everything I’d ever known, loved and held dear. The novelty of the move wore off quickly and it felt like my life was over.

I know that sounds melodramatic, but dang, y’all, I was a mess. It didn’t help that it snowed on my first Michigan birthday. In late April. Snow. On. My. Birthday.

If 44-year-old Christy could talk to 34-year-old Christy, she’d say, “You only think your life is over. Yes, you’re crying daily right now, but in the very near future you’re going to meet some great people. You will have a church family. You’ll go to lunch with dear friends. You’ll have people to pray for and people who will pray for you. You will not always feel like you do right now.”

Younger Christy wouldn't have believed Older Christy – she would have kicked her out and told her to keep her rainbows and sunshine to herself…

HT: Rant Lifestyle

Sometimes we just have to live through stuff. I lived through the days, then months, then years, and all of a sudden, a decade had passed. And Older Christy was right: I have lovely friends; I have a wonderful church home; I have people to pray for and people pray for me.

Perspective is a wonderful gift. Problem is, we usually don’t have it until we've lived through a whole bunch of crud. And it’s hard to claim someone else’s perspective as your own. But if you’re going through a bunch of yucky, please cling to my perspective: it really won’t last forever. Things do get better. Not overnight. And it might take years. But it will get better.

If you need some hope, cling to mine. And pretty soon, you’ll have your own to offer someone else.

So, Michigan, happy 10^th anniversary. A really sweet anniversary gift would be some spring-like weather. So if you could get on that, I’d appreciate it.