My Love-Hate Affair with Change

When I was about 8 years old, I remember trying to rearrange my bedroom by myself. My room was the back corner bedroom in our 60s suburban ranch home in Thornton, Illinois. The floor featured 1970s era orange, green, and gold shag carpeting that I had selected. The walls were adorned with matching orange floral wallpaper. Very Brady, all the way.

On that particular day, I used all of my skinny might to maneuver my twin bed into a rakish angle. The head of the bed would now be in the corner, with the foot projecting out into the center of the room. Behind the bed was a hidden little triangle where I planned to sit and retreat from the world, absorbing the latest Nancy Drew or Cherry Ames. But moving my bed wasn't just about needing a hiding place,

I liked the change.

By shifting the furniture in my 10 X 10 foot corner of suburbia, suddenly my room became brand new. This angular perspective created a fresh start. This simple change was thrilling.

I've always craved little bits of change in my life. Perhaps it is because, for the most part, the staples of my life have been overwhelmingly stable and consistent.

I've lived in the south suburbs of Chicago since I was born.
I grew up in one house on Mohawk Drive for the first 18 years of my life.
I took a job at Moody Bible Institute where I have worked for 24 years.
Then I married my husband - we will celebrate 22 years this September!

That is why, these past few months, I've had a pit at the bottom of my stomach. Life is about to change. Really change. Not just move my bedroom into a new configuration, but move my family and job and home across country type of change.

This is scary.

I am excited to shake things up, to try something new. And, I am petrified. What am I doing? Why would I leave what I know for what is unknown? Why would I rock the boat when it is sailing along at a nice pace? I want this change, and yet I fear it.

In December, I resigned from my faculty position, and last month we put our house on the market. We are planning to move to Florida as soon as our home is sold. We are excited to live closer to family and enjoy warmer winters. I am doubly blessed to still work for Moody from a distance, but in a new position as a writer of fundraising materials.

While all of this is wonderful, this change is also prompting an onslaught of questions:

Where will we live exactly? Not sure
When will we move? Not sure
What will my new schedule be like? Not sure
Where and when will my daughter start school? Not sure

While I am excited, the "not sures" are making me crazy. Although I like change, I want to be the one in control. I am like that skinny 8-year-old pushing my bed. I want to maneuver it all by myself and then, maybe, hide in the corner of my new room.

The parts that are out of my control are terrifying.

As a Christian, I've always believed God is in control of my life, even the smallest parts. I also realize that whether I stay or go, there are no guarantees my life will not change. I am not in control. I know it.

Now is the time to put my faith to the test. I need to walk in faith and loosen my grip on my future. If I truly believe in God, then I have to fully accept that I am not in control. This change is not up to me. I need to calm down and rest in Him.

My pastor has a tradition at the end of our church service. As he reads the blessing and sends the congregation out, he has us hold our hands open, palms up, and listen. We are in receptive mode, letting God bless us and shine upon us.

So that is me, now.

Hands open.

Palms up.

Waiting and accepting whatever change may come my way.

Mary McLeod Bethune: She Has Given Her Best

I first heard about Mary McLeod Bethune when I was a student at Moody Bible Institute. She was an early graduate of my college - and an African American woman. I knew she had gone on to become one of the greatest women in our country. She was so well known that she earned the status of being featured on our postage stamps. But I didn't really know much about her. As I researched Mary McLeod Bethune for my book, When Others Shuddered: Eight Women Who Refused to Give Up . I learned a bit more about her remarkable life: She was the 15th of 17 children, born to former slaves. From an early age, she hungered for education. She graduated from Moody Bible Institute with a desire for missionary service to Africa - an opportunity she was denied because of her race. Undeterred, she started a school for African American girls in Daytona Beach, Florida, that went on to become Bethune Cookman University. She was asked to work with Franklin D. Roosevelt and led many African Am

Pacific Garden Mission: A Bed, A Meal and the Bright Light of Hope

In 1877, a woman named Sarah Dunn Clarke and her newly-wedded husband George started a rescue mission on Chicago’s south side. They were wealthy, but their hearts were broken by the men and women who struggled to survive on the city’s streets. The Pacific Garden Mission is the 2 nd oldest operating rescue mission in the United States. Now located on 14 th St and Canal – just south of Chicago’s loop – they offer shelter to as many as a thousand men and women on any given night. As part of my book research to understand how the work of Sarah Clarke continues today, I visited the mission with my friend Dawn Pulgine. Entering through the side, we felt a bit out of our element. Men, black and white, old and young, clustered near the doorway. Some carried bags of personal belongings. Others were working the desk and security. It was mid-day at the Mission. We were given a tour by one of the “program men” – residents who choose to stay and live at the

Your Roots Are Showing

I'm older. I know that. But, honestly, I still feel pretty young. Well, most days at least Today I received a not-requested senior discount at Einstein Bagels. It appeared as a $1.03 credit on my receipt, along with the cheery explanation. And if other people don't tell me I'm older, my body definitely does. I traveled to and from Chicago last week with my daughter and her friend. Being the self sufficient woman I am, I helped the girls boost their luggage into the airline's overhead bin. Later that day, I felt my mistake. My back has not been happy ever since. I've been putting those sticky heat patches on it, Ben Gay rub, ice, heat wraps, you name it. And still when I turn incorrectly . . . ouch. There are other signs too. I wear glasses now . . . all the time. It started with readers, and then progressed to progressives. And I HAVE to color my hair now. Those pesky roots keep reappearing in an ever-shinier shade of silver. I (briefly) considered embr

Jamie Janosz

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