moving. or: an exercise in not freaking out.

So, we're moving to California soon (just thought I'd throw that out there in case someone somehow missed it, as unlikely as that seems), and I am trying hard to trust that God is going to help us get everything together smoothly. I have some moments of lovely, peaceful trust. But other moments, my brain does this:

Figure out how to ship Buster.

Make reservation to ship cars.

Get a new job. 

Work out child care. (Hey, any California Lobsters want to be severely underpaid to watch an adorable Eiley full time? Part time? Hello?) 

Find a place to live that is somehow central to where I work, where Eiley is cared for, and where Jeff works - wherever any of that may be.

Sell any unnecessary stuff here in Virginia.

Determine which moving company to use, making sure they provide storage as well.

Repaint walls of apartment while trying to remember how much we enjoyed having not white walls the whole time we lived here.

Move.

Remain calm.

It's funny that I am capable of freaking out so much. It's ridiculous even. God has proven himself faithful over and over to me and Jeff, so why do I think things will be any different this time? Silly human me, stop worrying! I wish, instead, that my mind would Pollyanna up and do this:

We're going to California, where most of my family is, where we have a lot of great friends, where we love our church, and where the weather is beautiful a vast majority of the time. How exciting that I'll get to learn a new job, whatever it might be, and I wonder what great opportunities Jeff will encounter now that he has his degree and is somehow an even better actor than he used to be. Life is sunshine and happiness and unicorns and jelly beans and Lisa Frank stickers!

Okay, maybe some of that was overkill. And maybe you people should pray for me.