Panicking at the Elevator

This week held the most change thus far in our family adventure across the continent.

We packed our "stuff" to keep with us for the summer, crammed the luggage and tubs and assorted whatnot into a few corners of our house, then watched as the professional packers sucked the rest into corrugated boxes to be shipped ahead and stored until our arrival.

It's a mess of a process, even in the best of circumstances.
No matter how well you plan, something usually is packed that you realize you need.

For us this time, it was Aurelia's riding boots. No boots for the summer!
Also, in a random act of silliness, the packer in the garage packed up our city recycling bins. I'm still trying to figure out how he didn't see the RECYCLE symbol on the sides of the bins. But I digress.

By the time we had dragged our tired and emotionally exhausted (me) patooties to the hotel, I was realizing that this process of moving is just crappy, no matter how many times you've done it or whatever the circumstances.

Evidence to support this has been the anxiety of our dog, Joe. As in, Cup of.  Joe is our chocolate lab who we adopted over a year ago. Somewhere along the way this week I realized that my "Trusty Sidekick Chocolate Bar" was displaying signs of anxiety. He was eating only sporadically and constantly looking at me with Those. Eyes.

Well, I would venture to say that my internal anxiety was manifesting in my dog.
When we arrived at the hotel and proceeded to the elevator with exhausted kids, heavy suitcases, and one chocolate lab the anxiety reached its culmination in Joe.

The elevator door opened.

Joe took one sniff at the strange closet-looking thing with the magic sliding door and made a decision. No elevators for him. The claws grabbed onto low pile carpet and the legs splayed wide in an attempt to back track away from the scary box. Our coaxing and calling did no good. No matter that we were all on the elevator without him. Only the determined yanking of the "gentle leader" collar by his stubborn Master would convince Joe that he must enter.


And enter he did. Where we go, he must go. It was in his best interest to follow us even though he didn't understand. There was no other alternative, though he may fearfully protest. Though he may not comprehend the vehicle, the dog had to ride. He was clawing the tile floor of the elevator all four floors up.

The object lesson was pretty complete for me right there. The kids were amused, Eric and I were annoyed, and Joe was resigned. But later as I chuckled about it, I realized that all week I had pretty much been doing the same thing. I just didn't show it on the outside.

Internally, I was balking. I didn't want my stuff packed. I didn't want to go. I hate this process. (Why do we have to do this again?) YIKES.

The hand of my Master is guiding me. He gently helps me to see that He has something new ahead for us. I don't know how it will all end up, I don't know what it will look like. I don't know what day we will arrive at our destination. But we have a Faithful God who does. And I'm going to follow Him.