1. Guessing a stranger's age
2. Resisting the lure of the Starbucks drive-thru
3. Waiting, in any way, shape or form
Those are not things I'm good at, especially number three. Right now it's even harder. I have a plan- I have a direction- I have everything but the greenlight. So I idle at the light, revving my engine, waiting.
"When you discover your mission, you will feel its demand. It will fill you with enthusiasm and a burning desire to get to work on it." (W. Clement Stone) I feel the pull of my mission. It sparks purpose in my heart, the heat fanning to my mind, my hands, my feet, fueling an irresistable urge to act. Yet the action required of me is stillness.
God gives no great go-ahead, no open door, but charges, "Be still, and know that I am God."
My natural instinct is to act. To confront, to take on, to conquer, and never to lie down. To sit by seems to accede defeat, and defeat has never been an option. It's interesting how God always seems to test us at our weakest point. Perhaps the timing of the move has less to do with semester schedules than with learning a new way to trust Him. Will I trust God to walk with me in the waiting? It's easy to fight, to drive forward and push ahead, but waiting is surrendered control. Trusting Him to act for us. Hearing Him in silence and feeling Him in emptiness. It's faith.
God, help me trust you when the now seems overwhelming and the future far away. I trust your heart. Let your desires become my own. Be thou my strong habitation and the lifter up of mine head, my rock of refuge where I may continually resort. You are hope when I lose sight of it. I love you.
Apartment hunting was an experience. A memorable one, at that...
I pulled into the city limits with mom just after noon on Friday, list in hand and hope in heart. I had found ten apartments in a ten mile radius, all under $500 a month and perfect on paper. We spent that day furiously crossing off every apartment on my list.
The first one had a Harley parked outside--mom looked, saw, and gave the "no" nod. The next one had stairs caving in on one side, which might be vaguely artistic but did not bode well for moving a 1200 lb. couch up said stair. Another one had an address that didn't even exist according to the GPS, and landed us in some sketchy alley behind an attorney's office with bars in the windows.
The old adage proved true, "you get what you pay for..."
At this point the light was fading as our energy had long since done. We sat in the car for about ten minutes and stared at eachother, waiting hopefully for inspiration. When none immediately came, mom and I decided to stop in a cafe and regroup (besides, coffee always goes a wonderfully long way in inducing inspiration). Thirty minutes of flipping through a local apartment guide and highlighting at will gave us three more options than we started with (and a much higher rent range.) But it was hope!
The next day was a new day, indeed, and the first apartment we toured made me wonder if I was still dreaming...
I half-expected a ray of light to break through the clouds and a choir of angels to burst forth in exultant song.
No Harleys outside, and the stairs were all unartistically intact. There was a lazy river outside, and a tray of cookies in the lobby. Real cookies, that came from an oven.
The first apartment is still at the top of my list (although I didn't fare quite so well, I did make the wait list), and the new job is falling into place as easily as an over-sized jigsaw puzzle. My new nest awaits. :)
I'm getting impatient. Anticipation to be in my own nest builds with every bath towel I buy. I am the little girl poised on the diving board, bouncing to build momentum, still gripping the rails tight.
Bounce...come on, I want to do this!
Grip...but what if I can't?
Bounce...I was born to fly.
And back and forth it goes.
I am eager to go, eager to be defining my independence, eager to test my wings. Sparse nervousness flickers at the edges of my mind. I worry about budgeting, about student loans, about being lonely on my own. But eager. Very eager.
Six months, I sigh, as I reach for Apartment Hunter for the thousandth time. Moving day is set for New Year, which first felt alarmingly close and now seems much too far to wait. Bounce...
Until then, poise.
Leaving the nest has me thinking of flying these days...soaring out in complete freedom, the wind under my wings, nothing but open sky...and three checked bags, two marked with the glaring red OVERWEIGHT sticker (I'm still hoping the gate attendant meant the bags and not me). And a book that I am trying to cram into my purse so it does not count as an unpardonable third carry-on item. And my passport and boarding pass tumbling out of my pocket to a neat sheaf on the floor. Let's just say that traveling light has never been my strong suit.
As moving day ticks slowly closer, I begin to think that might be an area for improvement. My future nest is a nice little eight hour drive away, not allowing for many re-loads of my compact SUV. Try one load.
Maybe if I strap the mattress to the roof and the boxes to the mattress and the couch on top of that...
You get the idea. So far I have a boxed dining table set, one plastic tub, three boxes, a shelf in Mom's linen closet, and a notebook packed with design layouts (the notebook can go in my carry-on). Oh, and one of my friends just offered me a queen bed! It is going to be a challenge and a half fitting a queen into a trunk 4' wide. Maybe if I strap the bed frame under the mattress under the boxes under the couch under the mewling cat...
So far no success in traveling light. I laugh and count the boxes among my blessings. After all, someone has to keep the U-Haul in business.
Number one overlooked fact of moving out of the nest: momma eagle does not move with you. Before you start cheering chants of "sweet freedom" and "alone at last," let it sink in for a moment that you are on your own.
For the last twenty (or thirty) years, mom has been bringing home worms, tidying the nest, and paying rent on the treehouse. Now, those responsibilities are yours. Me personally, I like to play house. Even cleaning can be fun with the right playlist. But the difference is that when I play house, all the nice pretend store people give me everything for free. Now, instead of mom paying me extra allowance to clean the house, I have to pay to get the supplies to clean the house myself (Life lesson #73 of growing up: being alive costs you money, and the price goes up as you get older. Deal with it). Then my adult brother, who has already passed his wing test and lives in Atlanta, introduced me to CouponMom.
CouponMom is like the tooth fairy for grown-ups.
http://www.couponmom.com/
She tells you when to take your coupon clipping confetti to the store and get such a good deal that the cashier ends by shaking his head and giving you money. I am not a coupon master yet (my brother promised to tutor me on advanced coupon tactics like doubling and matching), but today I got a dollar off my Swiffer starter kit and seventy-five cents off an eighty-four cent scrubby pad. I still had to pay to do my own cleaning...but paying less made me feel better about it. :)
Moving out on a limb is exciting. A little risky (especially if you weigh too much for the branch and it starts swaying back and forth in the suddenly not-so-gentle breeze...sorry, back to topic). Okay, it can be a straight up freaking-out, nerve-shattering experience!
But I have discovered The Upside.
You get to go shopping. No really, shopping! You go to the store, and you find things you like, and then you take them home. This is actually a legitimate part of the moving out process and is called "feathering the nest." My feathering wil be limited to a couple of poofy down pillows, but the concept is one I can appreciate most thoroughly.
So far I have made two feathering excursions, both to Atlanta's design mecca IKEA. IKEA is a wonderful place designed for people who have developed their design pickiness by watching too much HGTV, but have limited fundage to back their taste.On trip one, the kitchen was my nest-compartment of focus. I spent about forty-five minutes agonizing over which set of white plates to buy. By the silverware section, I kept the box that felt heavier. By the time I got to gadgets, I put it in the cart if it looked useful and ignored what I couldn't identify (except for that curious object I still can't figure out...it looked like an oversized thimble but the tip was rough like a cheese grater. Still have no idea). On trip two I stocked the bathroom; much easier. Towels in one pile, soap dispenser in another.
Somehow, even the purchase of a dustpan delighted my soul as I looked at it and envisioned it in my first place. :)
Seven months, two days, and five hours to go.
And then, the test of all tests. The no-cheating-your-way-out-of-this-one, sink-or-swim, pass-or-fail test. The one that we all have to take someday (and it's not the GED). The test that conscientious parent eagles have been administering for eons...
Once upon a time, baby eagle (that's you) was cheerfully, chirpily living it up in the nest. His only concern each day was what mamma eagle was going to regurgitate for dinner. Then one day, mamma eagle comes back to the nest, and instead of feeding him, pushes him to the edge, and there baby eagle teeters, his eyes glazing as he takes in the jagged rocks below.
"But Mom, I can't..." she pushes him out of the nest, "flyyyyyyyy!!!"
*Please do not call PETA until story is finished. No eagles were harmed in the telling of this story.*
As baby eagle finds himself plummeting in freefall, the first .32 seconds of thought read, "did that just happen?" The next .05 seconds are spent in various verbages of "cool." At .38 seconds, baby eagle has realized his peril and repeats, "I'm gonna die." At .41 destruction seems imminent, and baby eagle goes into shock. Reflex then takes over, and strangely enough--within a split second--the eagle has begun to fly. The shaky wings hit the air gasping, but the pulse strengthens as the air thrusts the eagle higher. And every eagle pushed out of the nest must learn to fly.
Seven months, two days, and four hours to go. And then, the test of all tests. As the New Year ball drops into free fall, so will I--I will move out of the nest and on to a limb. Let's hope I learn to FLY!
