I know that I’m excited about going back to my old church. Now that I am a mother, I have no interest in drama or cliques. I just want my son to grow up in church and participate in Awana’s and have friends his age. I don’t care who slept with who or who accidentally got pregnant “out of wedlock” or, for goodness sakes, who just came out of the closet. I just. don’t. care. I’m excited to go to services preached by a pastor I fully respect. I am excited to see familiar faces. I am excited to be in a house of God.

My walk has been so rocky for the past few years. My faith in God was really shaken up by some events that I don’t really talk about and I have a hard time letting go of controlling my life. However, this move has really made me rethink my beliefs and just how much faith I can put into him. We needed a certain amount of money and we got it. Our car broke down and we received the necessary funds from a surprising source. All of these little problems crop up and solutions present themselves in the most subtle of ways but they are no less powerful.

For example, Joshua and I were in Starbucks today, bartering with a book reseller over some of our old commentaries and Bibles. I was talking to the man’s wife about our move and why we were moving and there was a lady reading her book that kept watching us but I thought nothing of it at the time. You see, in public, I am not ashamed to play with Noah or dance to overhead music with him. I am quite flamboyant about having fun with my little boy. This usually brings stares so it’s not something new to me. It never occurred to me that she might be paying closer attention than usual until the couple we were selling books to left. Then she walked up, handed Joshua a $20 bill and said, “God bless you in what you are trying to do”, then rushed back to her book and barely acknowledged our thanks (not in a bad way).

After something like that, how does one NOT believe in the power of God and the love that he instills in his children? So you see, my walk with God is in an entirely different place than it was a year ago or even a month ago. I have no idea what’s going to happen when we move. I have no idea where we’ll be a few months from now…but I firmly believe that we’ll be happy and content in due time.

Now, I have so much to say that I don’t know where to start! I’m also terrible at writing anecdotes and remembering things that aren’t written as “and then, and then, and then” statements.

But, I’m going to attempt, since if I don’t I’ll beat myself up for it later. Here goes:

We are moving in less than two weeks. It’s here: Crunch Time. We’re frantically packing, even though we *tried* to be prepared and pack ahead of time and get whatever we could done. We’re cramming visits – tomorrow some friends from Atlanta are coming down and then we’re having dinner with Joshua’s mom and siblings (Sarah and Scot are coming up from Florida), then we need to make another visit out to Joshua’s Grandmommy. Not to mention we need to pack the rest of our apartment and clean so we can cheerfully hand over the keys next Thursday. (Oh. my. God. Next Thursday. Holy cow.)

Thankfully, we’ve spent a lot of time with Joshua’s parents this past week. The yard sale was Friday and Saturday so we went over Wednesday to help set up and pick Noah up after a Nana Playdate, and then went back Thursday to finish setting up and spend the night. We didn’t get home until Sunday morning. Noah had a blast the entire time as he played outside on the plasma cars and rough-housed with his uncles. The poor boy has two skinned knees, two skinned elbows and bug bites. He was so covered in dirt Friday that I had to hop in the tub with him to get him clean enough.

Oh, yes, for some reason Noah stopped taking baths alone. He promptly freaks out and tries to climb out of the tub. It does seem to be getting better, thankfully, as the last time I gave him a bath (yesterday), he continued to play even after I got out. Phew!

He’s such a character though, seriously. Last Thursday, we were outside and he was calling for “Daddy” and I said “Josh!” to get Joshua’s attention. Noah grins and starts saying “Josh! Josh! Jooosh!” over and over. We figured it was just a one-time thing, or maybe he thought it meant “come here!” but Joshua did something later – I can’t remember what – and Noah goes “Jooosh…” like he’s scolding him. Goofball.

He’s also saying two word sentences which is just awesome. He looooves avocado which is great for his anemia and he’s been doing better about getting food and drinking juice.

I really do get this stuff written down, I swear, but Twitter and Livejournal are so easy because I don’t feel like I have to be coherent or put effort into writing a full entry. That, and LJ is for certain eyes only. ;-)

Well, I think I’ve successfully written an entry. It may be all over the place and badly written but I’m calling it good, for now.

Besides, when I moved out here for Joshua, I knew I wouldn’t want to retire here or stay forever. I like it just fine – small towns have their charms, especially this one – but I don’t like the school district or the extreme isolation (The Pioneer Woman would laugh her tush off at me right about now if she were to read this – as if). Moving away was inevitable and this way, we can get back on our feet and let my family enjoy some time with Noah while he’s young. I know that I’ve been worried that my grandmothers wouldn’t bond with him appropriately (though it seems they already did) and I’ve been worried for my mom, who has been in quite a bit of emotional pain that she couldn’t see Noah grow up this past year and a half but now that will change.

However, money, or rather the lack thereof, is our primary driving force. Joshua and I don’t seek to be rich. We simply want to be debt-free and stable. There is scripture about how you cannot serve two masters and I do feel that debt sometimes gets in the way of my relationship with God. (Most of the time its my beef with certain “holes” in scripture but I’m working on those.) I long for the day that I can save up for a purchase without feeling the niggling guilt that the money should go towards paying off a credit card.

Anyway, before I ramble on like I usually do, there is my update. If you follow me on Twitter or Facebook, you’ll probably be spammed with my pingback links. Sorry. You should know better than to follow me. ;-)

There are certain things about my father I will always remember: the way he smiled at me when he was having one of his good days, the way he saved up money to grill choice cuts of meat as a special treat… the way he always treated me like an equal, no matter how old I was or what I had done. There’s more, of course, but it seems that for the moment, these are what stand out.

To me, Dad was always like an overgrown kid. He knew what made kids happy and even when he was exhausted or the fibro had taken over his body, he did what he could to enjoy time with them. In particular, me. I wonder if he knew he wouldn’t live very long. He did always seem to act like he was going to have a short lease on life and tried to pack as many lessons into every moment with me as he did fun. He always shared stories about his childhood and his rowdy teenage years, repeating them as often as I asked, as if he knew that I would someday cling to those stories as best as possible so I could one day pass them on to my own children.

He was also never afraid of being candid with me. He was proud of knowing poetry and I can’t hear or speak of Robert Frost without Dad flashing through my mind. He loved to tinker with computers and write music and play guitar. When I think of him, I remember camping trips in Huntsville and grilling and hiking. I remember fishing in the early hours of the morning or the late hours of the night. I remember squealing because I caught my first fish and Dad understanding why I was so excited and Dad complimenting me on what I’d learned and Dad telling me he was proud of me.

I haven’t been fishing since he died…

There were bad moments. Terrible moments. Moments that used to haunt my dreams and be the source of nightmares for years. And yet, for the sake of love and his memory, I shove those moments away, under the mental clutter, so that I can love him fully. So that I can remember his laugh and his stories and most of all, his love. What good would grudges do against a dead man who, in the end, truly loved his daughter?

I miss him every day. Even though the pain has ebbed and it no longer pierces me to talk of him, the ache is there. I see a woman with her daddy and my heart weeps for my own father for whom, I too, was a princess. I’ll always love him and I hope to do justice to his memory. I hope he knows that, somehow.

I really need to get to a dentist and have it taken care of but I’ll admit that fear is a large part of what keeps me from going. I’m not eager to be sedated but I’m not sure I can do any procedure without some sort of sedation…make sense?

Anyway, today was lovely. It was Shannon’s birthday so we went over there to celebrate and babysit Joshua’s brothers while she and David went out to eat dinner. Noah decided he was going to say a new word (“doggy”) and that he wanted to run around the house like one of the big boys.

I feel like my life has come together, even if money and financial stability continues to elude me. My husband loves me. My son loves me. My family loves me. That’s what is important.