It’s hard to move. All the boxes, your life packed up and destined to be shaped differently, in a new space, a new environment, a new home.
I’ve moved more times than is normal. For a few years there, it seemed like my friend Haley and I just cycled out of random apartments and houses every semester or so. Dads and brothers and boyfriends appreciated this less than anyone else. Then, somehow, unexpectedly, life settled down a bit. Haley and I found the cutest apartment ever and stayed in it for longer than we should have (without cable, but with incredible bright colored walls that we would just stare at and talk about how cute our apartment was - we painted ourselves, and it goes without saying that we lost the security deposit).
Time went on, and I met (or re-met) a boy. We courted, we got engaged, we got married, and we moved. Then we moved again. Then, fast-forward a few years, and we decided to uproot and move clear across the country to a strange land called California. We would leave fried pickles and grits behind, and embrace vegan-ism and yoga. No really, we made a huge decision, but it was carefully weighed and thoughtfully entered into…and we were excited. Best of all, although my husband moved to Los Angeles in June, I had work commitments that kept me based primarily out of Birmingham for at least five more months. I had plenty of time to make my peace with all of this, and say goodbye.
So the logistics of the move have been a nightmare, even worse than any I’ve experienced before. It takes what seems like forever for the moving company to get your stuff from Alabama to California. Then they have to shuttle it into our beach community because you can’t bring a truck in. Then I’m unpacking boxes that I have no idea what to do with because all the trash rules are different. It’s interesting and quite the undertaking. I like our place, thank goodness, because after all this, I have no plans to leave and move again for at least a couple years.
But let’s back up a little to the point of this blog post. Four and a half years ago I had just starting regularly attending a church with my now husband, and was looking for a bible study, or prayer group, anything that would plug me in spiritually with a group of women around my age. Our singles Pastor, Danny, put together a group of girls who had all made similar requests. We went to our first meeting with our leader, Susan, and met each other for the first time. There we were sitting around a kitchen table - me, Lucy, Holly, Katie, Ruthie, and Audrey - with no idea the incredulous things that the Lord had in store for us. We spent six weeks just telling our life stories. Some of us were broken, some were healing, some were in a maturing phase - we were just believers who all wanted something more, especially in our relationships with other Christians, and in our friendships.
We spent a year studying David. We also drank margaritas, and crashed a junior league party. We went out together, we had dinner, we gave ourselves a nickname. We picked up new members (a new pledge class - and yes, I know I seem oddly obsessed with naming groups I’m involved in after sororities), so that’s how we got Heather and Purnell. At some point in there Heidi became an honorary member. During all of this, I was slowly falling in love with Jesus more and more, and unexpectedly, I was falling in love with these women. We weren’t all necessarily fast friends, but with our discipline and commitment to our group, we slowly became the very truest friends I could ever imagine.
Our time with Susan came to a close, and we prayed for a new leader. Enter Olivia, one of the most hilarious and godly women I’ll ever know. I loved our nights at her home. Sitting in plush comfy seats, surrounded by antiques, laughter, honesty, and love. We had amazing dinners. We picked up another pledge class - Melissa, Charlotte, and Mary Beth. During this phase of our group’s life, I became spiritually broken. I struggled, and faltered, and fell, and was angry, and the Lord sustained me. He taught me I couldn’t do these things on my own, but He could do them for me. The group never left me. They cleaned me up, picked me up, prayed for me, and loved me in the toughest ways. I was healed. A lot of other things happened too - some got married; some were broken; babies were born; businesses and careers flourished; Charlotte moved to Savannah. Somehow, we continued to lean on each other, and my heart was always most honest and open to these women. I came to love them in a way I didn’t think I ever could. Look up friendship in the encyclopedia, and there should be a picture next to it of all of us from the Party Margarita Party, or one of our New Year’s Celebrations, or our countless dinner parties, or more often, simply praying together.
So I thought I would come to grips with leaving the life my husband and I had made in Birmingham, but it was harder than I thought. Instead of preparing to leave, I avoided that it was happening at all cost. I threw myself completely into my work - (maybe you’ve been able to tell by my lack of blogging)! And, then, all of a sudden, I was actually moving. I was about to leave everything I knew and loved behind and head out to the other side of the country. Family and friends, vendors and professional colleagues, the foundation of my studio, the house I love - it was staying behind in the little Over The Mountain bubble I grew up in and made a life in. What would California have in store for me? How could I do this without my bible study? But I was reminded, subtly at first, and stronger throughout the week, that I wouldn’t be able to do this on my own and that was okay. The Lord had gone before me. “The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” - Deut. 31:8
At the end of last week, I was excited and ready, but devastated. I was leaving these women who walked through fire with me and laughed hysterically about it for most of my adult life. They had a dinner for me last Thursday (my last night in Birmingham), which reminded me of why I love them so much. We laughed so hard we cried - I didn’t have the time or emotion left to be sad! And they each wrote me a letter to take with me. Words to sustain and encourage and love me. I cried again. Since I’ve been out here, I’ve realized that Lucy has actually been hiding letters all over the place - and I received one in the mail my first day as an official resident of Los Angeles.
Words are powerful. They are the reason I was terrified to start a blog a year ago. Words can impact you in the most important and lasting ways. And they can’t be taken back. They can build you up and tear you down. They matter so much more than we realize in daily life. And I have words with me. I have words from the women I love and treasure most with me here. I haven’t opened any of their letters yet. I’m waiting for when I need them most. When I’m lonely and sad and homesick and bitter - because those days are coming at some point. When the newness wears off and I wonder why God saw fit to bring me out of The South and all the way to the West Coast. That’s when I will most readily fall back on my knees. And that’s when I’ll turn to His Word, and the words of my friends.
If I make just one friend in California with half the depth to our friendship that I have experienced these last few years, I’ll be the luckiest girl in the world. Or maybe I already am…
