I suppose I could adjust to the nomad type of life if I had to, but I kind of like the stability and predictability of staying in one place. I remember when I was little every now and then my sister and I would rearrange our bedroom. I would lie in bed and try to adjust to the new perspective. It was always weird.
That second move that I made, happened half a life-time ago now. We had just turned thirty and Ron had the opportunity to run the Petoskey branch of Coca Cola. We jumped in with both feet. We had no idea how difficult it would be to say good-bye to family and friends. As I watched the moving van pull away from our home in Jenison to head north and hugged both of my pregnant sisters good-by, reality started to set in. Other relatives showed up at our new home to help us move and those good-byes were even more difficult. There we stood gazing out of our living room window--all five of us--waving and crying. The thought of it still makes me cry.
Fast forward a few months. Some of those same family members came up to visit us that summer. They were shocked as we walked together through the streets of Charlevoix, seeing that we had already connected with so many people, as if we were at "home." We were happy and we had no regrets. It had been the best decision for our family.
We often talk about how that relocation has changed us. We have life-long friends that we never would have known with whom we have shared grief and joy. I know that there was one little boy that Rhonda met every day at the kindergarten door of the elementary school that has become my wonderful son-in-law. In our loneliness, we immediately found a church where our gifts were discovered and put to good use. The most important change however, was our dependence on each other as a family. We learned very quickly that "we" were all that "we" needed and that we could make it on our own.
This past Christmas has been all about relocation as well for me. With our children grown and wanting to spend Christmas in their own homes throughout the state, we've begun the habit of celebrating at one of their homes. After all of the grandchildren were asleep in various corners of my daughter's home, the adults tiptoed into the kitchen, ate dessert, and whispered and laughed quietly about memories of Christmases past. Hysterical laughter is hard to suppress, but we managed. Williams' Christmas Relocation turned out just fine.
My church made a decision to relocate this year as well. We decided to move our Christmas Eve service to the high school auditorium. Relocation can really mess with our traditions, especially where holidays are concerned, but here's why we did it: we wanted to be able to invite those who might not be comfortable in church to come and hear about Jesus. And you know what? I'm proud of my church, because we understood that. In spite of a little bit of grieving, we were willing to give up what we held dear. "Silent night," sung to the glow of battery operated tea lights instead of real candles, was just as beautiful when we saw the big picture.
After all, Christmas is about relocating isn't it? I'm pretty sure that a young expectant couple didn't want to relocate to Bethlehem that close to the baby's due date, and later experience the inconvenience of relocating to Egypt to protect that child's life. And then there's the obvious--Jesus being asked to relocate and come here for us. I remember our good-byes to our family and I'm trying to picture the good-byes when Jesus left heaven. The reality of relocation must have hit pretty hard and He knew that He had little to look forward to. God didn’t look down a few years later and see all the new friends Jesus had made—instead He saw a small group of faithful followers, a lot of curious on-lookers, and many enemies.
Yet, He still would have said that relocation was good. I think it was pretty awesome. Jesus taught me this Christmas that some of my traditions need to be given a fresh assessment and that when I’m called to relocate, it can be pretty amazing.
