I’ve found myself in an odd state lately.

Today, I’m 36+4 weeks pregnant. Little mister could show up any day, and instead of painting the nursery and dreaming about taking him to the park next door, I’m house hunting for homes in a different state.

That’s right–we’re moving again. We don’t know when, we don’t know where, but we know it’s coming. The shift work is slowly killing our family and it’s time for the next adventure. It will only be four moves in a year. Whatever. No biggie.

(It’s NC to CO to VA to VA to IDK, in case you’re trying to keep up with us.)

Nesting has become less of a sweet instinct and more of a raging hormonal obsession that’s driving me to madly wash and fold baby clothes, organize the nine closets in the apartment, and get pre-approved for mortgages in every single state we’re considering so when we finally find a job and choose to move we can make it fast.

Yep, I’ve now chosen homes in Virginia, Maryland, New Jersey, Colorado, North Carolina, and Pennsylvania. I haven’t found one in South Carolina yet but it’s next on my list. I have a dream home in South Dakota and another in New York. I’m insane.

The desire for stability is out of control, which is kind of hilarious considering my upbringing as a missionary kid and then spending almost the entirety of my adult life as a military wife.

Shouldn’t I be used to this life by now? 

Pregnancy hormones are kicking my butt this time around. I’m dying to slow down and paint a nursery and start building a life I’m not planning to leave in a matter of months, but we have a long way to go to get there. There are God given instincts that are setting in as I near this baby’s due date but my current situation dictates that practically, I shouldn’t even bother nesting.

Sure enough, my hormones and my circumstances are at war.

The result is that I’m attempting to nest in places I don’t even live yet. What, we might be moving to New Jersey? Better research every single aspect of every single area to choose where I want to live. Oh, now we might be moving to Maryland? Let me see where all the YMCAs and Trader Joes are so I know where to buy! Could be North Carolina instead? No worries–I’ll just choose a house and get pre-approved for a mortgage so I can make an offer on it tomorrow. 

My husband comes home and I’ve been house hunting all day in a state I don’t even live. In a state we aren’t even necessarily moving to.

My mind is tired. My heart is tired. I thought I liked moving and maybe I do but somewhere along the way I got a taste of what roots feel like and now I’m desperate for them. Compounding on that are the wild end-of-pregnancy hormones that are sending my need to plan and control haywire.

It’s a good thing that ultimately I’m not in control, now isn’t it?

The truth is that there is a God who planned this baby and the four moves in a year. He’s the same God who created pregnancy hormones and the helpful-under-other-circumstances-than-my-own desire to nest, and He’s the same God who knows exactly when and where our family is going next. It was part of His plan before our family was even a thing.

That God is the one who controls what jobs my husband is offered, which one we decide to take, the “perfect” house for us. If I was in control of it all, I’d do a mighty good job screwing it up, that’s for sure. In fact, in the past when I’ve tried to take control, I’ve screwed it up; I know there’s a dang good reason God didn’t put me in charge.

I don’t write this to remind you, friend.

I write this to remind myself.

That in the midst of the tears and the longing and the uncertainty and the madness of mass organization, God knows what’s next for me. Not only does He know, but He personally handpicked it for me, because He loves me and He sees the big picture I’m totally oblivious to.

These are not truths I’m very good at holding close. I want to be in control; I want to just know what’s next. I’m really, really, really tired of waiting.

Not to mention that my hormones and my circumstances being at war is turning my mind into scrambled eggs. Call it pregnancy brain; call it what you will; the truth is, my brain is functioning at both zero and one million three hundred and fifty two percent these days.

It’s almost too much, but it’s not.

There might be an internal battle raging and it may be making me bonkers, but it’s great practice in laughing rather than crying. I’m learning to (somewhat resentfully) listen to my friends as they deflate my nesting-in-a-place-I-don’t-even-live balloon and bring me back down to planet earth. Every day is a constant reminder that I’m not in control, and even though I don’t always like it, it’s the truth and I need it.

Maybe sometime soon we’ll settle down; most likely, it’s a pipe dream at this stage in our lives. Either way, this baby is coming home to clean clothes and immaculately organized closets.

It’ll be great, whenever–however–wherever it happens.

I don’t know anything about any of the above.

But God does and He always has; He planned it a heck of a long time ago.

In the meantime, I will attempt to quell my internal war with chocolate, Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth, more laundry, and lots of Jesus music. Perhaps I cannot control the future, but I can control the washing machines.

Praise God that He controls all the rest! Also, yes, washing machines included.