More on home, expectations, and such

About a year ago, we came home to Knoxville after a visit to Fort Wayne. It was the first time in my life that I didn't think of leaving the Fort as leaving home. 

If you know us, or have read this blog, you know Nathan and I never planned or wanted to leave Fort Wayne. Somehow, we both managed to spend all of our growing up years and early adulthood in that city. As a place, it was my firmest idea of home. It was a heartbreaking decision to leave. Before all three of us even moved to the new place in Illinois, we knew it probably wouldn't work long term. That realization came so quickly and unexpectedly. 

I came to Tennessee pretty upset that we were even farther from Indiana. We never, ever intended to move twice. I hated it. After a few months of hard adjustment (and some helpful insight thanks to Just Moved! Ministries that moving actually is hard), one might say that I dragged myself into trying to make Knoxville home...I stubbornly didn't want to; I missed my idea of home terribly. But, my efforts worked. Knoxville became home. I really thought we'd spend the next fifteen years here. I suppose it only makes sense that now we have to leave.

I have no expectations of staying in Indianapolis long term. Our history now informs us that it's only a mere possibility. 

The idea of home has been a mess for me these last four years. Like I said in the last post, I don't like learning from this. I put in so much work and dream so many long term dreams about home as a place and certain people just to leave them and have to start all over. I recognize the benefit of the lesson, though. I do believe that only God is constant, is everywhere, is unchanging, is home. And this experience is really *ahem* driving that home.

Hebrews 13:8 Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.

Daniel 7:14 ...And His kingdom is one which will not be destroyed.

Psalm 18:2 The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.

Here We Go Again

We are going to move again. I hate moving. It's right up there with death of a loved one and serious illness. Our first two big moves have been hard, lonely processes. Both of them have also brought beautiful people into our lives. It's so hard leaving them. I've been crying for days. Starting over is the worst. I do realize that it can get better, but that new beginning has (for me, so far) really sucked. 

I fully believed we would live in Tennessee for a long time. I did not, in any way, count on the serious downsides that are ultimately influencing the decision to leave. I made this place home. I can hardly wrap my mind around leaving already. I don't know if I'll be able to consider any place home again. Dramatic? Maybe. Ugh, I hate moving.

Three years ago, I would have welcomed a move back to Indiana with open arms and much excitement. Now, I'm going because it means so much to my husband. (Please know he repeatedly offered to turn the opportunity down for my sake. But marriage is so much give and take and I can't ignore what this means to him).

I know God is in the pain and the process and I (do my best to) trust Him for the bigger picture. I am also learning that He needs to be my place because the physical places have been taken from me far too easily and the loss devastates me every time. 

We believed we were going to raise a family in Ft. Wayne. We almost believed we were going to do it in northern Illinois. We believed for sure it would happen in Knoxville. I've lost hope it'll happen anywhere except the everywhere that the Lord dwells. And that's still hard. Because I want a permanent place and familiar people so much. 

Psalm 18:10 The name of the Lord is a strong tower.

Colossians 2:7 ...so walk in him, rooted and built up in him, established in the faith...

Isaiah 43:19 ...I will make a way in the wilderness and streams in the dessert.

And one that was shared with me recently, Jeremiah 33:3 Call to me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things that you have not known.

When Food is a Problem

When I was in college, an older couple invited me and a classmate to dinner for a project we were working on. I don't remember the details of the project, but I remember the dinner:

Grilled steak kabobs with onions, peppers, and mushrooms. I choked the meal down and politely nodded in agreement as my classmate raved over how wonderful it tasted. When I got back to my dorm, my roommate was bewildered that I would feel ill after a meal that sounded so amazing. I was trying hard to get over the texture of grilled onions, peppers, and mushrooms in my mouth. I felt silly trying to explain it.

Before we left Illinois, I went to a dinner for my MOPS group. Someone brought a pan of pasta from a local restaurant because it was the "BEST stuff ever." I tried it, but I could barely swallow the combination of chicken, garlic, and onion. It was awful.

I remember gagging on spaghetti and other Italian dishes regularly as a child. I have had nightmares about onions. I wish I was making that up, because seriously. Who has onion nightmares? I vividly remember the time I (around 7 years old) took a big bite of mashed potatoes, only to gag so hard I threw up. I wasn't expecting them to be full of potato peels and taste strongly of garlic.

When Andrew started to refuse food a couple years ago, I was ok with it. We'd made a big move, his world had changed, and I completely understood food texture issues. When he gagged to the point of throwing up, I got it. Except that he kept regressing, eating less and less, refusing foods that had once been acceptable, stressing me the heck out. And I was already stressed at the time. I hated moving. I know my child picked up on it. Did my stress cause his eating to worsen? 

I don't know. He was a better eater once, but never a great one. He was occasionally gagging on food before he started refusing so much of it. And the fact that his peers seem to go for treats so easily (ice cream, donuts, popcorn, chips, etc) and he has never done that...I don't know. Then there's family history. Me. My father-in-law is very picky. I'm told my maternal grandfather was very picky. Maybe it all condensed into my child. 

We've been in feeding therapy for nearly a year. It is, by nature, a slow therapy. We're exploring sensory processing disorder and hoping for answers on that soon. It would help explain his problems sleeping and a few other issues (and maybe help with food!). In the meantime, I am a mom who never in a million years imagined that extreme picky eating would be our biggest struggle yet in raising a child. Here's to figuring it all out and praying for improvements.