I’ve moved all my life.
Augsburg, Germany at birth.
Fort Benning, Georgia as a baby.
Luverne, North Dakota as a toddler.
Back to Fort Benning, Georgia for pre-school.
A short stay in Oakland, California as we waited for my father to send for us.
Off to Okinawa, Japan for kindergarten, first, second, and third grades, but even on that little island we moved twice.
Fort Leavenworth, Kansas.
Fort Benning, Georgia for fifth and sixth grade; I met my lifelong friend Pam here.
Columbus, Georgia while my father was deployed to Viet Nam.
Washington, D.C. for Pentagon duty.
Killeen, Texas for a year off-post, then a move on post to Fort Hood, then a move off post to Harker Heights.
Tallahassee, Florida for college, again, with my bff, Pam.
Fort Hood, Texas as a new bride, new teacher.
Off to Mannheim, Germany, and even overseas we moved three times. We put our moving boxes into moving boxes, and brought little Lauren into the world in Heidelberg.
Back to the continental US, to Fort Benning, Georgia. Welcome Christi!
Off to Monterey, California, Fort Ord.
Back to Fort Hood, Texas within a few blocks of my folks. Howdy Carlisle!
Fort Stewart, Georgia with a large battalion of other movers and shakers.
Fort Harrison, Indiana. Hi Michelle!
Carmel, Indiana. Lebanon, Indiana.
Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. Hello little Charlotte!
Mannheim, Germany once more; then off to Hohenfels in Bavaria.
Back to the continental U.S. again, to MacDill AFB in Tampa, Florida.
Retirement to Brandon, Florida, followed by an earthquake as Bo and I split up; I stayed in Brandon; he took to the trails.
Back to Harker Heights, Texas, to look after momma.
A move to College Station, and another move in College Station.
Put down roots you say? Do I know how?
Roots have never been a home, a backyard, or a neighborhood. Roots for me have always been my lifeblood—my children, their spouses, my grandchildren.
But when I moved to this town, this neighborhood-- I found the closest thing I've known as home in a very long time. But, it’s coming to a close. The guys who own my house, not my home, are moving back in. It’s their house. I get it.
But I don’t want to leave my home. I want to stay.
I know I'll find a cottage, a pup tent, a fortress someplace nearby. But moving is hard. This is the place I love. This is the place I want to stay.
God’s will is perfect. His ways are not my ways. Each time I’ve moved, it’s because He’s picked me up and plopped me exactly where He wants me to be. He’ll do it again. I know.
But moving is hard.