Travels in a small town

So, when last I wrote, I was musing about my new life in small town New Jersey. I feel like someone should ask me, "How small was it?" Well, no one will so I'm just going to tell you. Wildwood Crest is small enough that you can walk from bay to beach in 3 blocks in some areas. It takes about a 1/2 hour to walk the length if you stroll. There is certainly a lot more to the island, but our little slice of heaven was itty bitty!

Moving in during the height summer madness, I truly believed it would be that way all year long. After all, I'd just left the hustle and bustle of the big bad city. Why would any place be any different? Naive is an understatement! By the time Thanksgiving had passed, the town was rolling up it's figurative sidewalks and taking a deep sigh of relief that "the season" was over. I, of course, had no idea that the season was over. It was simply really nice to be able to easily find a parking spot or get my groceries in a half hour instead of an hour and a half.

Then the winter settled in and you could have seen tumble weeds rolling down our street! No one was home! The air turned bitterly cold, biting you right through 4 layers and not giving you a chance to warm up. Constant winds, which we fabulously cooling during the blistering summer heat, now threatened to tear my hat right off of my head. Ear muffs became a staple in my wardrobe, sometimes even in our apartment!

It was a VERY difficult transition. Not only was it absolutely silent at night, but sometimes it got down right creepy. There were days when the sun never even peeked out from behind winter white clouds and it seemed like the darkness and gloom would never end. Eventually, though, it did.

Right around March temperatures started to rise and with them my spirits. I'd suffered from a severe case of the winter blues and was ready for some fun in the sun. I pictured spending my mornings walking on the beach, maybe collecting a few shells. I was in for a surprise in the form of a new prospect.

My husband's teacher was leaving his position and had gotten a new one in Wichita, Kansas. I thought to myself there is absolutely no way I'm going that far away from my family and friends. I huffed and puffed and cried until my eyes swelled shut. But, in the end, it was either move right along with Rav or lose a year's worth of work and move to NYC, a place I love but can NOT LIVE IN! So, we packed up our postage stamp sized apartment and began planning our trip out to the heartland of America. Though we had made our plans and had contracts in hand, thing did not turn out to be as easy as we'd anticipated.

First thing, the movers were 2 days late in arriving to pack up our belongings. It was a huge inconvenience, but actually turned out to be a really good thing. In all of the tzurus of the move, David and I had gotten a phone call that shook me to my boots. My Mom's best friend's husband had died. This was a man who had known me me entire life. I was friendly with his daughters and thought of him as an uncle. The moving delay actually allowed us to sit shiva and mourn with his family, something I truly needed.

It was the very first time that I felt God was watching over us and making us follow His plan, in spite of our own. There have been several times since that first moment that I felt God was moving David and I according to his will and not our own. Sometimes for what seemed the better and sometimes in spite of our best efforts to better ourselves. But always, leading us to the places and people who needed us the most landing us, eventually, in New Orleans.