The Art of Moving On

another box. another move. more boxes. more moves.

as i physically pack up my stuff and plan to move again this weekend, i’m doing the same mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.

however, this time – it feels so much heavier. like the ones before were from one page to another – and this one is from one book, to the next. a splitting in time, if you will. and though i’m the first to admit my deep love of over-analyzing – i have a feeling this isn’t the case this time.

something completely different is on the horizon.

why do i think this? well, because this move feels more painful than exciting, more sacrificial than expectant. i’m having to choose to trust in the unknown. and as my friend helped me pack tonight and looked at me as i put another thing in a box (as I guess my face was more telling than i was hoping) softly says, ‘only for a season, Jess.’ 

and it’s not even like i’m not looking forward to where i’m going to live. i love my best friend and the gift of her home is a blessing i’ll never fully be able to articulate – but again it’s not so much the physical – it’s what’s going inside of me.


the image above shows the the chronological order of my last 9 years.

13 moves.

thirteen times i’ve packed up, cleaned out, gone through, reminisced, put together, took apart, let go, held on, and moved on. and to be honest, i’m tired.

i’m tired of the moving. of the never feeling settled. of the constant unknown. of the fear of holding on only to have to let go. of the constant doubt of wondering when i’ll have to move or what will change. all knowing it’s fueling my fear of commitment, or if i’m honest – enabling it.

and at this point in the blog – if you know me or you’ve read anything i’ve written – you’re wondering, ‘where’s Jess in all this? This doesn’t sound like her.’

And you would be right. this process takes a lot out of me – almost so much that i have to remind myself of who I am – and more importantly WHOSE I am. That it’s not about the ‘J’ on the wall that makes me feel at home, or the story behind every coffee mug, or even the picture frames i selectively placed pictures of each season of my life in – though all those are good, it’s still not about them. it’s about Him.

the fact that my story will never be about a one home or shelter – but the woman who moved into them as one person and moved out of them different all because of Jesus.

and though that may seem too simple or even plight – it’s not. it’s so very true.

that image above gives me chills looking at it. it makes me grateful for how far i’ve come and even more appreciative for all the people who have been with me on the journey. the roommates, the parties, the bible studies, the laughter, the love, and the sweet sweet times of one-on-one worship with my Beloved. these times that were so rich in goodness and priceless memories.

and even though i know that, the enemy likes to make me feel like these places were just stop lights instead of destinations. because it’s so much easier to see things as if they happened too fast when they are gone, but in those years – i was present. i was truly living in each of those places.


so as i did last night as i laid in bed and said “this is the last sunday night i’ll have here..” i’ll say the same thing about a monday. I’ll be present here, in these moments. and maybe that’s the lesson in and of itself. it’s not the moving on – it’s the learning to be present because i’ve learned that moving on is inevitable, so cherishing the present is imperative.

so i pray that if you’ve read this far in my ramblings and you want to learn anything from my moves – it’s that. be present. soak in where you are. what you have. who’s around you. because all too soon, it’ll change and this season, chapter, or even book will be over and a whole new one will begin.

the art of moving on isn’t necessarily a particular packing style – it’s acceptance of what was, what is, and choosing to hope in what will be is better than you can imagine.

so here we go, move 14 – what do you say, let’s do it, alright?


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