In the past ten days, I have made two all-day moving trips to the Chicago area.
The first was to move my mom from one care facility to another. My sisters and I trimmed down the stuff mom has in her room. In each move over the past four years, her belongings have diminished in keeping with her capacity to remember. It takes a smaller vehicle each time. More things are taken away than are moved.
The second was to move our son and daughter-in-law to their new home in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Andrew has been moving boxes and bits for the last couple months, but Saturday was the big move. The three of us filled the truck, drove through the rain, and arrived late at night. It was a bigger truck than we used four years ago when, just married, they combined their apartments and their lives. Their belongings have expanded, a bit, in keeping with their capacities to make memories.
I cried during both moves. Both involved transitions, saying good bye to well-lived parts of lives. One has hope for improved care and safer surroundings. One has hope for increasing influence and options with more risk.
You know about these moves as well. They are part of living. We begin making decisions for our parents, we learn to wait for requests from our children. We grieve the loss of connection with the outside world. We rejoice in the increasing connections with the outside world.
We load the trucks for other people and we pray for them. We ask God to help them find friends, to find callings, to find ways to live with meaning. And then we have to trust. Trust them and trust God.
Trust always involves releasing the perception of control. It’s a hard learned behavior.