A few of the kids enjoying our new backyard.

Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid. ~ John 14:27

Moving is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Perhaps the only the harder is pregnancy and childbirth! 🙂 My family and I have just completed our ninth move. One thing I’ve learned after all of the moves, is that men and women handle it differently. Every move we’ve made in the last fifteen years has been for my husband’s job, or calling; for the ministry. My husband is excited about moving and starting a new work. He loves exploring new church buildings and getting the lay of the new land. He loves meeting the new people. He just loves his work. I am called to the ministry, also, but in a different way. I do not get up and preach, but I am a support behind the scenes. I keep the home fires burning and food on the table. I wash kids’ faces and listen to them read. I fellowship with folks at church and assist them in ways that my husband cannot. We are a team.

But since my husband  is, after all, a man, he is able to jump right into his new job and become immersed quicker than I can. I’m easily bogged down with “mom” type worries: Where is a good doctor? Where is the pharmacy? Does everyone have our new address? And so forth. After the initial settling in is over, comes the ocean of emotion washing over me:

I don’t know my way around!
I miss my friends!
Where’s the toilet paper in this Walmart?
Do the people like me?
Where is my can opener?

Where’s my rut? 

That about sums it up! I want the rut! The very thing I often complained of, is that which I now miss the most. I miss getting up and knowing right where the bowls were. I miss knowing where I stored the crib sheets (or whatever!). I miss the smooth flow with which I could cook a meal in my old home. I miss the neighbor boy who could feed our dog when were away. I miss the familiar faces in our old town. I miss going for a drive and not being afraid of getting lost. I miss my hairdresser, my post office and even the tiny library we used for five years.

There is definitely an emotional toll to moving. I think it’s one of Newton’s Laws of the Universe: “when a woman re-locates, it causes stress, tears and weight gain.” Okay, so it’s not a law of the universe, it just feels like one! Through all the ups and downs and ins and outs of starting over in a new place, I find great comfort from the One Who has gone before me. My Savior has walked this road ahead of me, and He is with me in my transitions, both physical and emotional.

Even if I had stayed put in one town my entire life, I would still be making transitions. I would be moving from one phase of life to the next. Going from newlyweds, to our first baby, to our second, third, fourth, and fifth babies, to seeing them enter the teen years and move out one by one, to being just the two of us again is a lot of change! Up, down, in, out, around, under are words to describe life’s exciting seasons! I’m thankful that the Lord is with me through those, too. He is here helping me adjust to my new house and town and He is here helping me adjust to the changing seasons of life. He is telling me, as the verse above says, that He brings me peace, and my heart should not be troubled. I will trust Him when everything around me is screaming otherwise. I must make the effort to keep my eyes on His word and my hope in His promises. He alone can calm that raging ocean of emotion inside of me and make the waters as smooth as glass.

My Calling. 🙂

Yesterday, I inadvertently caused a big brouhaha (I just love that word!) on my blog’s Facebook page when I shared some verses that helped me. I try to be real on this blog, but it’s often a fine line to walk between being real and letting it all hang out, so to speak. I want to be real about myself, while never giving opinions of others. I tried to do that yesterday. I emailed the status I had written to my husband for his approval and he gladly gave the “OK”. There was nothing in the status that I would not openly say to a single person on this planet face-to-face.

A critic informed me on that post that “God called your husband, not you.”

God called my husband, not me….is that right? So today, I want to consider my calling.

I fell in love with my husband about 16 years ago, knowing that he was called to preach and pastor. We were married seven years before he became a full time pastor, but he had been involved in part time ministry from day one. I couldn’t care less about his occupation. He could be a ditch digger and that would be fine with me! He’d be the handsomest, most amazing ditch digger on the planet! I just wanted to be with him. On January 2, 1998, God called me to my husband. My calling is Terry Basham, II. This is found in scripture, see Genesis 2:24.

My grandmother married a farmer. She was deeply in love with my grandfather. He was a tractor salesmen for International Harvester after they married. They bore six children, one of whom was my mother. My grandfather was so intelligent and such a wise manager, that he became a millionaire. My grandmother milked cows and gardened. She fed cattle. When a fire took some of their property, she was along side her man, working to re-build and re-plant. Was she called to be a farmer? No. She was called to be with Allen. Whatever he did, she did. Did she always agree with him? No, I don’t think so, but she served faithfully and lovingly until I sat by her side as she took her last breath. One reason granddad did so well, was because my grandmother was so frugal. I remember her for her chocolate pie – it was the best in the world. She raised six of the greatest people you’d ever meet. Tractor salesman or farmer, banker or ditch digger, Nona loved Allen and that was that. What he did, she did, and she loved it because she loved him.

Euclid’s first common notion says that two things which equal the same thing, also equal one another. If I am called to Terry, and Terry is called to the ministry, then I, too, am called to the ministry. If Terry is called to farming, then I am, also. If Terry is called to be a soldier, then I am involved in that as well. Obviously, I am not the pastor, nor would I be in the Army if he were, but I care about what he does simply because I care about him. I know many women who cannot handle the ministry – it’s hard getting criticized. Even though I am not the pastor, I seem to receive my share of insults. But that’s okay. I am called to Terry. I also have a great resource to guide me and help me – God’s Word. He is with me and Terry is with me.

So let the critics roar!