I stood in the well polished wood foyer looking for some church member I could talk to. .Looks like the service is over, I thought. All I saw were two men engrossed in a conversation. I waited, standing on one foot and then the other. No one looked up.  Geez, don’t any of you want to welcome a visitor? A new face would stand out in this tiny church. After a few minutes I realized no greeting would be forthcoming and my temper grew. I wanted to shout,” I’m one of you, even if you don’t know me. I belong to the same family”

Finally, exasperated, I grabbed one of the programs and ripped it into a hundred tiny pieces, letting the confetti float to the floor. Rip and tear, rip and tear. Taking out my frustrations on a piece of paper  probably wasn’t the most mature reaction to being ignored but it felt good, real real good I was weary of being a newcomer and having to reconnect with strangers …again.

To my amazement, they still didn’t look up. I’m outta here, I said to myself as I stomped out the front door to the parking lot.

Has this been your experience as a newcomer visiting a place of worship? I hope not. Maybe you aren’t the over reactor   I’m famous for, but inside did you struggle to connect with a new congregation? Wouldn’t it have been easier to snuggle up on the couch and flip on the television to a famous pastor and worship anonymously in your living room? I know I have. It’s a lot less stressful.

What keeps me from taking the path of least resistance and settling for the electronic church? One word: community. I long for a few souls who might understand me,  befriend me and pray for  me as I adjust to a new zip code. I desire to find a place where a few might remember the names of my children, ask if I’m finding my way around, and suggest a pediatrician-   simple things to feel  connected to one’s new community.

Community is called koininia in the New Testament and means (bible.org) to hold something in common (www.bible.org). Another source, (www.gotquestions.org), suggests it means fellowship, communion and joint participation. It’s a rich word that carries the sense of action and can’t be translated with just one English word.

Of course true community comes from God. Our Heavenly Father is a complete contradiction. Our brain can’t fathom the Creator of the world also being Jesus the tender Good Shepherd to his twelve disciples. When we read the New Testament, we see Jesus mirror community with his twelve raggedy men. He constantly taught community as He washed their feet and cooked them breakfast. He built deep friendships as He comforted them when the disciples became fearful. And in turn, the disciples practiced koininia in the early church as the world commented:  “See how they love one another“.

I’ve had to repent for my little paper-tearing temper tantrum. In retrospect, the two gentlemen might have been involved in a crucial conversation. Maybe one man had lost his job and his friend needed to encourage him. Maybe they spoke of marriage troubles or a wayward child. It doesn’t matter. Only God knows and He’s reminded me not to judge people’s reactions to myself.

Several years and moves later, I can laugh about the episode. But let’s us, as a church, be more aware.  Newcomers show up everywhere, vulnerable because they’ve uprooted. When we spy some poor soul with a pile of shredded paper at his feet, I   hope we’ll grab a dustpan with one hand, and extend our hand with the other.

Please be patient with the new gal in town. I recognize her modes operandi; ‘she’s just a fellow pilgrim trying to find her family.

This month I’d like to introduce a friend of mine, Laurie Long, an emergency specialist. Now before you get excited and email me for her phone number, please note that she doesn’t move pianos, clean up wet basements or rescue us novice drivers when we slide our rented U-Haul into a ditch in Atlanta. What she does do is help us get our documents organized for the big relocation. I think you’ll find her ideas very helpful and practical.

Also, take a look at her website for more great help.
Thanks Laurie for helping us plan a better move.

Yours for a sane move,

Carol

I HATE TO MOVE!
by guest blogger Laurie Long

Have you ever had to pack up your home and move? I have…16 times in my life. Each time, one would think it would become easier, but it doesn’t. I rationalize, procrastinate, and then I face the facts, get boxes and start packing.

Each time I have moved, one thing stayed constant. I had all of my personal, legal, and financial documents already packed. They were in one box, and they are always stored in a closet in my new home for easy access.

I’m an emergency specialist, but this type of organization began over 40 years ago when I had to locate my birth certificate and immunization records. I was still living at home and my parents were out of town. It was one of those occasions before cell phones, and I couldn’t contact them to ask the location of my documents. When they returned from their trip, I made copies of my birth certificate and immunization records; purchased a cheap little fire resistant box and it went with me whenever I moved. Over the years I began to add insurance policies, copies of my auto and driver’s license and many other vital documents. I currently have a fire-resistant box in the closet and several family members are aware of its location in case I am incapacitated.

If you are facing a move to another home start right now and as you are packing, look for all of your personal, legal, and financial documents and put them in one organized, portable file. Label it well and you are all set! THAT box should never be unpacked, and it should be easily accessible.

I’ve created an emergency system called My Life in a Box, A Life Organizer. It is so simple, with only 6 files and one portable folder you can leave your home in 5 minutes with everything you need to rebuild your life in case of a house fire or natural disaster. Then, if you or a family member is in an accident, those documents can be easily accessed by friends or family.As you begin to pack for your next move, first locate the documents and put them in one box. Then sort them and put them in an inexpensive expandable file, store the file in a fire resistant box and update it every 4 to 6 months when new insurance policies arrive. Get a copy of My Life in a Box…A Life Organizer for a complete list of documents.

Be prepared, get organized, and stop procrastinating!!! By doing this simple step as you are packing, you and your family members will never need to look for documents, and they will always be in one place in case of a family emergency or disaster. You will also be better prepared to move…the next time!

Laurie Ecklund Long is an Emergency Specialist
and author of My Life I a Box…A Life Organizer.
She may be contacted through AGL Publishing
www.mylifeinabox.com

One thing I love about the South, the neighborly ways. Used to be the whole country was interested in those residing near their homes but with internet, television, iPods, busy carpooling schedules and duel incomes, neighboring has become a lost art in many parts of the country. Fortunately the slower pace in North Carolina allows neighboring to continue. I’ve created a memorial to my best and worst neighbors. Let’s announce the Hall of Shame folks first.

• The neighbor who sent my young son home for saying, “Crap”.
• The kids next door who decided to target practice from their bedroom window, the side of our house with a large slingshot and heavy objects. Aluminum siding never recovers from these wounds.
• Their parents who denied their darlings could dent anything.
• The neighbor who sent us an anonymous poisonous note saying our dog was “bothering” her little puppy and she’d send the authorities to our house if we didn’t tie up our wild beast. Written about the meekest dog in the world!
• The next door neighbor who removed, hosed, and reorganized his garage every weekend. Actually this man turned out to be a pretty good guy; he just made us look bad.

Now, onto the Hall of Fame. I’ve always had more of these generous, kind and fun-loving souls. Winning a place in my Hall of Fame maybe not an award all aspire to, but I need to give recognition to those who have shown great hospitality and friendliness.

Years ago I moved into a new town far away from my family. My husband traveled a lot and one weekend I found myself in bed with the flu and no husband. With three children, ages three to six flying through the house, my spirits sunk lower as the toy piles rose. On my emergency runs to the bathroom, I’d survey the rug covered with legos, car race tracks, potato chip crumbs and dried up play dough. I whimpered a threat to the oldest boys who seemed to be tormenting their younger sister by calling her a “Whopper Sandwich” Even in my fevered state I thought they could come up with a more ferocious nickname, but the insult worked. She was in tears.

Over the roar of fighting I heard a muted buzz. I thought it was the doorbell. Truth be told, we hadn’t had many visitors so I wasn’t sure what it sounded like. The door opened and a vision of loveliness, a dark haired young woman stepped inside. Hands full with candy for the kids and chicken soup and magazines for mom, I thought, Was this the Welcome Wagon Fairy? How did this woman know I was sick? I vaguely recall meeting her once but to this day I don’t know how she knew I needed chicken soup and companionship.

I met Marian in another neighborhood. I had shown up at her doorstop to find out about a Brownie meeting and she immediately ushered me into her house. Her merry eyes grinned at me as she said, “I thought I saw you the other day driving your daughter to school. Weren’t you the woman with the pink and yellow hair curlers? Haven’t seen that since the sixties when I was young. I figured I’d like anyone who has the nerve to wear curlers in the car.” I cringed. Then I thought about it . . .I like this gal! She had a sense of humor and four children to match my own. She put me at ease right away.

Lonie had a strange accent I couldn’t place when she brought cookies over to us when we moved in. I found out she grew up in South Africa where everyone knows all their neighbors. I loved her down to earth personality and her little 18 month old son who studied my every move with his thoughtful eyes. She took it on herself to include me in many of her daily excursions: did I want to go to the park, had I been to the new Italian restaurant, would I like to go to a program at church? Many times she showed up on my doorstop with a flower from her garden or some South African Red Bush tea. One of her friends told me, “Lonie’s hobby is collecting friends.” Now that’s a worthwhile avocation!

My neighbor Patty loved to cook and would call me over to sample some new recipe. Soup simmered on the stove as she surveyed her cache of frosted cookies Her frosting art put Martha S. to shame. I swore an oath to secrecy as she wrote out her prize winning sugar cookie recipe and gave me a crash course on rolling out dough. She, the Barefooted Contessa of our neighborhood always had the coffee pot brewing. And best of all, she always had leftovers she sent my way!

My neighbors all shared one thing in common: time. They decided to take a slower course in life that could occasionally fit in a drop-in neighbor. None had perfectly groomed houses or completely obedient children. But they had the gift of neighborliness. It’s an art we need to continue to cultivate as our American culture spins out of control. It’s what makes for memories. And you might even end up in my Neighbor Hall of Fame.

(first printed in Forsyth Woman’s magazine)

Many parents have had to make tough decisions about their family and their future in the past 18 months. Since the economic recession started, some families have had to make tough decisions about their homes. Some families have fallen into foreclosure and pinching pennies to get try and stay in their homes.  Other families have had to downsize their lifestyle and others have had to take jobs – sometimes in other towns or states, jobs that mom or dad may be may be overqualified for, but take any way to provide for their families.

These problems have been faced by millions of Americans and often times, parents feel guilty for having to uproot their children from their school, friends, and other activities in order to make ends meet. But if a parent has taught their son or daughter well, a move can be a great experience bringing families together.

Due to my father’s job and my parents’ wishes to have their kids in the best possible schools, I moved several times growing up. I attended two elementary schools, two middle schools, two high schools and two colleges (which was my choice).

Sure it was tough being “the new kid” every couple of years, but kids have short memories and after a couple of weeks, I was no longer “the new kid” but “a kid” at school. Moving was also refreshing. It helped me develop social skills, approach people with ease and be more confident in who I was. Sure, moving affords you the ability to re-invent yourself at a new school to new people but it also forces you to make some decisions about yourself. Constantly changing your image or persona can be fun, for awhile, but eventually being you usually wins out. And who wants a group of friends that likes you for your image, rather than for you who really are?

The personality-building periods of moving during my childhood more than prepared me for adulthood. Transferring in the middle of the fall semester of my junior year of high school from a conservative Christian high school to a larger public high school in the outskirts of Michigan’s second-largest city was a great prep when I transferred from a small, Christian college in rural Indiana to a large public school in the Mountains of Western North Carolina before my second year of college..

I found that the key to making the best in a move is to have a good attitude and find a group, activity or institution you can connect with. In high school, it was Young Life and athletics. In college, it was becoming a founding father and chartering a new fraternity on campus. Seek something out that you will care about put your heart and mind into it. Chances are, people will notice and gravitate to you if you’re genuine and show a true passion for something.

I talk to people who’ve grown up living in the same house, with the same neighbors and friends and family members their whole life. While that’s the traditional way some prefer, I appreciated the different cities, states, cultures and people that have crossed paths with me throughout my life to shape me to be a more well-rounded  and approachable person .

So if you or your family has had to make one of those tough decisions recently – pulling your kids out of private school because you can’t afford the tuition this year, a move down to a more modest house in a more modest neighborhood or maybe a cross-country move to a whole new community, don’t feel guilty, even if your kids come kicking, screaming or crying. They may not thank you now, but down the road, that speed bump will help them prepare for many of life’s larger peaks and valleys.

If that pep talk doesn’t work, just tell them what my dad told me:

“It builds character, son.”

Seth Stratton lives in Greensboro, N.C. and is a reporter and editor for The Dispatch newspaper in Lexington, N.C. He can be reached at scstratton@yahoo.com.

It was the week after Christmas.  We had celebrated the holidays, said, “Good Bye” to the staff and congregation at the church where I had served as educator on the staff, sent in all of the change of address forms. We were downsizing to a small married student housing apartment so we did not need to pack furniture yet a lot was required.   I was deep cleaning our house so our renter, my mother, could move in. And I was really feeling grouchy!  It was all I could do not to snap at my family members.

This was not acceptable to me.  I did not want our children to experience this as an unhappy event. After all we had a lot to look forward to. We were going to live on the very supportive Scarritt College campus with students from around the world and outstanding faculty. We loved the thought of living in Nashville where there were cultural events for all ages.
We made to Nashville; some things went very well and I would have done some things differently.
What went well?

1. We prepared the children for the move sharing why we were moving and the benefits of my returning to graduate school.
2. We were very organized, unpacking quickly and making the place as much like home as possible. Boxes and paper were taken away immediately. Beds were made the first night.
3. We ventured out to a new place of worship on our first Sunday, after snow had fallen. My husband had returned to Florida. I had never driven in snow but we made it! That was an important tradition.
4. We immediately became friends with other families with children, including a family in our apartment building.
5. We were able to enroll our daughter in an excellent church related preschool within the first 3 weeks.
6. We enrolled our son in Cub Scouts right away so he could continue in this program.

What would I have done differently?

1. I would have asked for more help in preparing for the move. We “did it all,” except for having had family who “watched the children”. Even with a small move there is a huge amount of work. However, I would have been less worn out if I had had help with house work and packing. I did most of the packing since my time was more flexible.
2. I would have given my resignation earlier so I would have had more rest. One working parent was enough at this time.
3. I would have made different arrangements for our daughter’s day care during the first 3 weeks after we moved. I was unhappy about some of the aspects of her day care center; she was nearby and only attended part time. However, I know my uneasiness did not help her transition there although she loved her church preschool.
4. I would consider not moving during midyear; small group relationships have been made, at school, at church, in scouting groups. This meant our children needed to enter into established groups and make a place for themselves. However I recognize that we live in a transitional society. Perhaps this was a better age for them to move than if it had been in high school.  Later on we made the move to seminary when our son was going into his senior year in high school. He decided to stay in our city, living with friends, and grew in many ways during this year apart.

Prior to writing this I asked other people who had moved often with children what they had done to help make the move go well.  They shared the following.

1. During the packing process, do only what is necessary. For instance, eat out when possible.
2. Provide opportunities for everyone to say “Goodbye’ to friends and get the friend’s addresses, including email addresses.
3. Assure your children that they will make friends at their new home, for this loss seems to concern us even more during the holidays.
4. Observe your nightly rituals and holiday traditions, whether or not you are staying in temporary quarters such as a hotel or an apartment and, yes, let them know that Santa Claus is aware of their location on Christmas Eve, wherever you may be.

Ann R. Hutchens, MDIV, CRTS, President

Certified Relocation and Transition Specialist (CRTS)
Serving Greater Central Florida, including Orange, Seminole, Lake, Osceola, Polk, Brevard and Volusia Counties
OFFICE NUMBERS: 407-699-5600; 888-973-3335(Toll Free);
FAX: 866- 943-9955
www.creatingdivineorder.com
Member: National  Association of Professional Organizers (NAPO)
National Association of Senior Move Managers (NASMM)

In the sixties, my parents would have cookouts on our patio with after dinner “make your own entertainment”. Included in the line-up, my father playing his guitar (ala the Kingston Trio) the older kids spinning hula hoops and everyone trying to do the new dance/ game called the Limbo.

The Limbo worked like this. Two volunteers would hold either side of a bar about three feet long, at about waist’s height. While the Caribbean music played, each Limbo participant would bend their body backwards, scooting their legs and bent torso under the bar. Guests would line up to go under the bar and after each turn, the bar went lower. If a player touched the bar with their shoulders or chest, they were disqualified.

Now Limbo, as a game is great fun. It breaks the ice and has people cheering on their fellow party guests. Unfortunately, limbo in life isn’t much of a party game. When we can’t sell our house, find a job or move from the place we live, that limbo frustration seeps in.

Bitterness often follows frustration. We ask: why didn’t we sell our house sooner? Why did we put so much money into remodeling the kitchen? Why did my company downsize just when I started? And the universal question: “What happened to my 401K? These questions are asked by many constantly as our country slogs through this recession.

Life Limbo, as painful as it seems, allows us to see the important things in life. Just like Limbo song asks the player, “How low can you go?” we want to scream, “No lower!” But soon standing mid-thigh in life’s crises we realize we can bend more than we dreamed. In Limbo-Land we learn to flex our rigid spending habits and see we don’t break. We can be happy with less money or a smaller house. We discover how a marriage can weather the unemployment storm with the relationship still intact. Resilience, an underrated quality can take a person a long way in life.

I, as a practicing Christian (and I do mean I’m still practicing) have gone through two years of the Limbo Dance. Due to several job changes we’ve had a bit of a nomadic life. After going through the gauntlet of anger, depression, self introspection and apathy, I’ve finally come out from under the limbo pole. I figure God will give us his game plan for the next few steps as soon as I stop fussing and realize He is raising and lowering the bar. I’d love to keep the bar high so I don’t strain while going underneath. But He knows I can bend and become a more flexible disciple for His kingdom. A life of ease isn’t the name of the game when you sign your life over to Him. A life of meaning is. When we sign up to be disciples of Jesus, we sign on to make our life count for something dearer than comfort.

My challenge for myself and my readers (whether we are changing zip codes or not) is to recognize the temporariness of tribulations. Be of good cheer: the Limbo Dance won’t last forever and we can come out the other end a different person, more usable and flexible for Jesus!