Heavy.

Oh, hello world. You’re still there. Happy to see it!

What I know of the world has been consumed by a variety of heaviness these past few weeks: the stress of relocating the animals, the children, the moving of 1,391 pounds of canned goods we had stored away for winter.

The heaviness of the most snow our valley has seen in the last decade. A steep driveway at the old farm that has made loading from the old house, quite literally, impossible (and dangerous).

The days feel heavy. The sun has made it’s appearance but a few times in the last couple of weeks and instead, the sky sits low to the ground - my mountains and view are non-existant.

…and of course, my heart feels heavy without Tobias here with me. I sat in a cafe the other day, sobbing, hoping nobody would ask me what was wrong. Lord knows they would’ve gotten more than they hoped to hear with a question like that. I really miss my companion on the farm more than I ever could have imagined.

My body feels heavy. The pregnancy has hit that glorious stage where standing up, sitting down, getting out of bed, even putting on pants presents a challenge. I lay in bed last night dreaming about holding that fresh little newborn baby and felt so eager to know it. What would it’s name be? Was it another boy? Another little girl? Who are you baby? I know you so well and yet, I am so anxious to see your beautiful face! By the way, if you could kindly scoot out of my ribs, that’d be lovely. Pregnancy is beautiful and I am thankful for it, but it also comes with it’s difficulties. Holding the other children on my lap and keeping up with daily tasks being but a few of them. I can no longer lift the hay bales or feed bags without Stuart’s help and for an independent, farm girl - that’s a hard stage to get to. I’m not one that cares for feeling weak or dependent. I’m sure the Lord is using this pregnancy to once again humble me in this department, but even still, I find myself resisting. I enjoy feeling capable. And 30 weeks pregnant isn’t allowing for such.

A few days ago, I threw my back out carrying a flat of canned peaches from the old house. I was couch bound for a few days and almost lost my mind. I saw the piles of toys and dirty clothes… the pillows strewn over the floor… the dishes getting crusty on the kitchen table… the mud smears drying on the freshly painted walls and floor. Stuart had to take to carrying the entire load of the farm and the family on his shoulders those few days and it tore me up to not be able to help him. As I lay on the couch that night with my heating pad, he sat by the fire with Georgia playing Go Fish and SNAP. Ever eager to love and serve us faithfully.

Stuart promised me, as I sat in the car weeping a few days back (I told you, pregnancy makes you weird, people) that someday… someday… we wouldn’t have to go back up to the old farm to trudge up the hill in 3 feet of snow to feed the 300 pounds pigs. And someday… someday… the 30 broilers currently living in the greenhouse at the old farm would be dead and in our freezer. And someday… someday… Owen would be able to only wear underwear and we’d no longer need to ask every 23 seconds if he needed to go to the bathroom. And that someday… someday… there wouldn’t be snow on the ground and we’d be able to easily navigate the roads and land.

It might be when Jesus returns, he joked, but it’ll come.

“I want to believe you”, I sobbed, “but I can’t at the moment.”

And then a few days passed. And though things didn’t get that much easier, tasks certainly passed and small victories were obtained.

I got pictures hung on my dining room wall.

My back recovered.

My brother in law helped us finish painting the stairway.

I filled my built-ins with a few of my favorite trinkets and cookbooks.

There are still a million fence posts and plants to move from the old farm, along with iron lamp posts, garden gates, and a few whiskey barrels full of perennials. And bee hives. And picket fencing. And a greenhouse. And all that jazz.

But the Lord has given us many loving hands and hearts to encourage us during these past few weeks. My parents have given up more hours than I can count watching kids, cooking for us, lifting heavy furniture, and unpacking boxes. Friends have brought over meals and invited us into their homes for rest and relaxation. We’ve been encouraged by kind emails and supportive comments from all of you. Each ray of sunshine, both from the sky and from our community, has kept the heaviness from crushing our spirits.

God is good and through this move, good things are happening. But the stretching, growing, and sanctifying process continues to challenge. Though, should I be surprised? I learned long ago ago that it is ‘uphill all the way’. The Lord has not called me to be comfortable, but glorifying amongst the madness. Whoops. Failure. Sorry about that, world.

I’ll continue to sort life away, box by box, painted wall by refinished floor. I hope that I totally don’t fail as a wife, mother, and Christian in the meanwhile. The good news - always - is that even if I do (even as I have) the Lord is quick and consistent in forgiving my many, many, many failures.

And before you try and defend my actions, trust me, there have been many, many, many failures.

Like a lot.

And yet here I sit - eager to share the good, the bad, and the horrendously ugly with you, my friends. Because if we sit back for a moment, breath deep, and admit what’s within - who’s life isn’t a big, ‘ol sloppy mess most of the time anyway?

Today, I chased a rogue turkey out of the pig pen after it knocked the netting down, made an escape into the pig’s nest, and was almost eaten by saucy sow. I had to fend her off with one foot while I balanced in a strange warrior pose while reaching forward on my other foot and grasping down for the turkey that had managed to wedge itself between the feeder and the fence in fear. It felt very reflective of the awkward circus that is life at the moment.

This is moving. This is farming. This is motherhood. This is self-employment. This is trying to build something. This is life.

This is the life that I love.

Even when I hate it.

And Amen.