"What's wrong?" says my mildly concerned husband.
"Nothing," I reply. "Sigh...."
And nothing is wrong. Really. Well, there are a lot of concerns floating around me - even fairly significant ones about family and friends. But my personal life has settled into a much more quiet and normal routine.
We've made our big move - one of the biggest changes I've ever experienced. And, we've landed, feet on the ground, planted firmly on the other end.
When we were in junior high, my teacher had this wild idea that I could learn gymnastics. They had this leather vaulting horse that we were supposed to run toward at full-speed, jump hard on a wooden bouncing board and hurdle ourselves into the sky, over the vault and onto the blue vinyl mats on the other end.
Olympic champion Kerri Strug made it look easy . . . even with a sprained ankle.
It is not easy. It is terrifying.
If you know me at all, you know I am not an athlete. So, maybe you are, and you enjoy this sort of thing. Be quiet. I don't like you.
But I am not. And, in 7th grade, I was horrified at the prospect of hurdling my 80-lb body over anything.
But Miss Weckering was glaring at me over her clipboard, so I ran (reluctantly), and I jumped (lightly), and I sort of crashed, stumbled, fell over the stupid vault. And I made it (somehow) to the other side.
That's how I felt about our move to Florida.
I faced the prospect of a major job change, a house sale, clearing of our mountains of possessions, moving three cars, a dog, and my 88-year-old mother-in-law. Finding a place to live. And sorting through piles of paperwork.
And now I've landed. A bit beat up. But, I've landed.
I'm on the blue vinyl mat.
Laying here, a bit bruised but whole, on the other side.
And now, I'm sighing.
I think that I have post-stress malaise. The kind of sadness you feel when you no longer have a huge snowball chasing you down a hill. It is relief, but you kind of miss the crazy.
I am so much like those crabby Israelites who bitched all the way to the Promised Land. Over and over again God provided for them. And they complained. And moaned. And sighed.
To me, they seem just plain selfish. But I realize that they, too, had gone through a major time of transition. They had left everything they knew (the good and the bad), and they were following God one step at a time into the unknown. They had to trust and believe and not look back.
So I'm pressing forward. I can get past this as well.
And I'm trying to remember gratefulness. I need to stop and thank God for getting me this far. I need to remember the way He's blessed us and cared for us and provided unthinkable things that cleared our way. I need to be overwhelmed with His love.
I am ashamed that I'm not. How quickly I forget God's goodness and turn to my own mixed-up perspective.
So - I'm pulling myself up off the gym mat. I'm saying, "Thank you, God."
Thank you for getting me to the other side. Help me not to miss the crazy.
Help me to keep looking forward and upward.
Help me to get over myself and my mixed-up, selfish, neurotic emotions, and to focus on you.
And, help me to quit sighing.