Our five year old has moved eight times.

Our three year old has moved six times.

Our eighteen month old has moved three times.

That’s about an average of six months a move, but it’s been more like two months here and a year there on and off since my husband and I married six and half years ago, and before that I moved an extra four times within thirteen months and once more before my son was born.

Since I was seventeen, that’s a total of thirteen moves–in eight years.

How does one handle so much change?

From the girl who has moved thirteen times in eight years, one word comes to mind:

Grace.

And one phrase comes to mind:

I don’t know. I mean it–I have no good answer.

That’s why I know it’s grace. And honestly, I don’t know how we handle it. I don’t know how I keep uprooting my kids every few months to a year and I don’t know how they’re okay with it. Sometimes it’s been for my husband’s work, other times to pursue a dream of mine, other times to be closer to family. Occasionally it’s been out of necessity, and we just keep getting up and doing it all over again.

Out of my thirteen moves, three were someone else (spoiler, it was the military) making the decision for us, eight were voluntary, and two were because we had no other option.

And everywhere we go, there’s someone else God puts in our lives to help us manage the change, manage being alone in an unfamiliar place.

In California it was two women who stepped up as mentors, one as a proxy mom, and a family already bursting at the seams who welcomed us in, in Albuquerque it was should-be-family who might as well have made it official by letting us move in for two months.

In North Carolina it was the community of military wives and our church, and when it came time to move back across the country it was our neighbors who I would have lived next to forever given the chance who kept me sane with their friendship and who watched our kids late into the night so we could pack up our house.

In Colorado it was my family who opened up their home and our church, particularly our small group family, who made us belong in the interim.

In Virginia it was our small group leaders, a family I met by chance thanks to a midwife recommendation on Facebook, and my friends from across the globe who would meet me every night at the park so our kids could run wild for a few hours.

Now, in Ohio, it’s our in-laws who are spending this afternoon with my three balls of chaos so I can have a couple hours of peace while my husband is traveling, it’s all the rest of my husband’s family who I’ve only ever seen for days at a time before the chance to live close to them, it’s the preschool director who doesn’t know that just standing at the door and chatting for a couple of minutes during school pick up is sometimes the only adult interaction I get for days, it’s the kids’ teachers who are so excited to see them and the pastor who learned my name the first week I visited his church and his wife who volunteered to mentor me as I have so much to learn.

All people who stepped up and welcomed us openly, even knowing we were just passing through.

People who didn’t keep their distance just because our time together was temporary.

I remember my son’s best friend in every place we’ve lived and when we considered leaving Colorado we asked our five year old how he felt about another change, if he’d be alright saying goodbye to yet one more best friend.

“It’s okay! I will make a new friend in Ohio!”

He was right, even though I know it’s not easy for him; he still talks about his friends from six moves ago, he misses every best friend he’s ever had and he remembers them all. His mature answer left me a bit taken aback, to be honest. I struggle with staying reserved in new friendships because I know I’ll be saying goodbye soon but he builds relationships with reckless abandon and when it’s time to let them go he is okay.

Kids are wildly resilient, especially when resiliency and change are all they’ve ever known.

And what about me? Every time I find a community, I realize it’s time to start packing boxes again. I put pictures on the wall only because they make me feel a little less interim, but I know I’ll be filling every one of those holes in soon. I haven’t had a mutually best friend since I was in high school, although I can name plenty of friends who filled that role during their season. There is a secret life of military wives and the curtains they collect as they move from house to house, as curtains never fit the same way in a new place, and so I have not bothered with curtains in one single house we have lived in.

What about me?

I am okay too.

How do I handle all this change?

I had some list typed out but after reading it over, it sounded kinda sad. Here’s the abridged version:

I try not to dwell on it, the goodbyes have actually become easier, I haven’t had stability in so long that change is normal, I’m okay with being alone, and I have a magnificent packing system.

And, of course, Jesus. The only peace, the only source of truth strength, and with Him I’m never even a little bit alone.

With complete frankness, it’s really not that difficult.

I mean it.

Most likely because change is part of our lives and we’ve learned not to fight it, not to pretend it isn’t happening. “Just roll with it” is a indubitably annoying piece of advice when you’re heavyhearted and harrowed about change, but after enough of it you realize there aren’t many other options.

During our first year of marriage, I chose an unofficial family motto:

It’s an adventure.

My husband pretty much hated it because I only ever said it during excursions when I dragged him along on some poorly planned camping trip with a week’s worth of food and supplies we had to pull in suitcases through the California mountains with no GPS and no idea where we were going after a bus dropped us off on the side of a highway–that’s a true story–or when I asked him to walk eight miles back to that campsite after a day in town carrying 5lbs of oranges we bought on the side of the road. And then the bag broke, so he carried as many as he could in his arms.

“It’s an adventure!” I’d proclaim, and he’d narrow his eyes and tell me we were never doing this again.

Then we had kids, so we haven’t done it again, but he is now the one that takes my hand and gently reminds me that it’s an adventure as I’m wiping away tears and sweat, surrounded by our lives in boxes that have to be moved just one more time.

When my perspective on change is adventure instead of goodbye, we look forwards instead of back.

Early next year, we’ll face a great deal more change. Another deployment coincided with the arrival of twins. Yes, two more! Goodbye to a husband for nine months and hello to squishy babes we’ve been dying to meet for nine months. Locations are easy, our entire family changing is a whole different type of new.

Once again, it will be grace that gets us through. I don’t know how we’ll do it. It doesn’t really matter–it’ll happen.

Our family will change and grow and blossom.

It will be an adventure.