In Which This Is All So Very Bittersweet

My fingernails are shot.  To the quick.

Broken and peeling all over the place.  Down to the nubs.

Not 'cause I'm nervous.  Nope.  It's been because I've been working those babies {and the rest of my bones} to the bone.

Literally.

The last month has seen me trimming and digging and hauling and planting and spreading all things dirty and life-giving in springtime's soft breezes.

Scrapping and peeling and stripping wallpaper, warm glue-y water running down my outstretched arms.  And the spackling.  Oh the spackling of those million little nail holes where all my kitchen collectibles used to hang so proudly.

Decision making, scads of choices each day from the smallest details to the great earth-shaking ones have left my brain a bit be-fuzzled.  Did I tell you that Home Depot's our new best friend?  And that we've lost count how many times we've traveled out 44 to the hardware store?

Sorting and boxing up and bagging and delivering hundreds of objects that I'm not using, not loving, not keeping.  Hundreds.  The resale shop, library, thrift store, and auction house rub their hands with glee as they reap my losses.

Updating and organizing and rearranging.  And oh ... the cleaning.

Everything.  Except the painting.

The man did that ... and ALL of the heavy lifting, relentlessly plowing through our seemingly endless must-do list, keeping us laser focused and moving ahead like a speeding freight train coming 'round the bend.

After 38 years, we're moving on, friends.  

After spending pretty much our whole adult lives here in NY, we are headed to our beloved Cape Cod, Massachusetts shoreline.  We're off to do the next season of life in the haven of rest I have cherished since I was 7 years old.  My parents and sister are nearby.  A little house seemingly designed for us, the place of His choosing, nestles on a quiet wooded street eagerly awaiting our upcoming permanent arrival.

My emotions are so very mixed.  It's all so bittersweet.

We leave some very dear friends here.  It's been hard for them watching this all unfold.  I know it.  They've told me so.  I see it in their eyes.  Every minute we've shared in recent days, every conversation has meant the world.  I cherish these people.  To say that I'll miss them would be a ridiculously vast understatement.

We leave this beautiful valley where the man and I grew up together as husband and wife, have experienced our greatest highs and the deepest lows.  We've raised our girls here, welcomed our grandbabies through the doors of this very house with wide open arms.  And said tearful good-byes to far too many friends who headed off to other vistas from this very transient area.

But it's my counseling clients that I'm most concerned about.  My pastor's heart just loves these courageous, insightful women.  Together, we've ventured down into the scariest pits and reached up to heaven's heights in their paths toward healing, wholeness, and growth.  Sending out all those letters explaining what and where and when was the hardest task in this whole transition process.

I've been counseling for 13 years.  Can you begin to understand how torn I am with leaving this ministry that's nestled so close to my heart?

Pray for these dear women as I help them transition.  And if you have any prayers left over, I could use some myself.

Bittersweet this is ...

The house goes on the market.  Next week.

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THE TRANSITION JOURNEY ~ AN UNEXPECTED SERIES

In Which This Is All So Very Bittersweet

Dear Linda  : :  Answering Your Questions About the Transition

For Sale . . . Our Much-Loved Haven

The Getting-the-House-Ready-to-Sell Whirlwind

Leaning in the Whirlwind

The Sheer Joy of Kindred Spirit Companionship

Honoring My Clients As I Close Up Shop

3 Things I Loved Most About House Church

Choosing Light-Hearted Responses

Moving On

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P.S.
Would you accompany me on my transition journey?  I would so love for you to be a steady companion along the way.  You can subscribe here.

P.S.S.
traveling with Kelly  *  Mary  *  Holley  *  Lyli