It was in the late 60’s when Doug finished medical school, and we left our native California to move to Texas with baby Trenise and 3-year-old Trevin. While Doug was busy with his residency in pathology at Baylor Medical Center, I was trying to navigate my new surroundings. I missed my home and my family’s support. Texas felt a long way from Loma Linda. Two years after moving to Texas, Doug decided to follow Baylor’s professor of microbiology and continue his residency at the new Hershey Medical Center in Pennsylvania. For the fourth time since the children came into our family we had to move.
Our caravan included Doug in a U-Haul leading the way. The kids, now ages 3 and 5, and I followed in our packed station wagon. My job, in addition to not losing sight of Doug, was to constantly answer, “Are we there yet?” and toss the kids’ distractors from the front passenger seat which was filled with small toys, food, water, and great snacks. These were the days before seat belts kept kids from rolling around without restraint.
We drove out of Texas and into Louisiana. The backseat games and snacks were holding out. But, by the time we got to Mississippi the complaints started, then escalated through Tennessee, Virginia, and Maryland. The 1,462 miles had taken the better part of a week. By now the new 1969 walkie-talkies were worn out with the kids talking to Doug “helping” him drive the U-Haul; meaningful road communication between Doug and me had stopped somewhere in Memphis.
When we finally arrived in Pennsylvania, I began to focus on my surroundings rather than on the back of the U-Haul. We passed little towns made of two-story brick houses, with scant or no landscaping, so unlike the sprawling ranch houses of Southern California and Texas. Closer to Hershey, I noticed that many of the houses we passed had lots of furniture and rugs on the front lawns with small rugs hanging from the low branches of the yard trees.
I decided to ask a clerk at a gas-station why so many people were moving. “Not movin’ Ma’am. They are doin’ Fall House Clean’n. My wife took two weeks’ vacation
time to do her Fall House Clean’n. She’s got to wax the dressers before I take them back in the house. She’s gonna’ make it–she’s got to go back to work this next Monday.”
It turned out that our new home was located in Pennsylvania Dutch country. Fall and Spring, the folks would empty their houses, deep-clean, repaint, and bang out the carpets. Cleaning, along with making large pots of apple butter in the fall and walking through deep drifts of winter snow were just a few of the many of the lifestyle changes that would affect our lives with our cross-country move.
Our house was brick and painted white with a neatly mowed lawn, surrounded by other houses with yards manicured to perfection. The smell of chocolate drifted from the direction of the Hershey factory as we stood on the sidewalk looking at our new home. The owners would return in three months, and then we’d need to find another rental. But, for now, we were home.
Fifty-two years later I reflect on the loving care from our wonderful Hershey church family and on the 22 times we’ve moved. I empathize with our pastors and their families as they pack, travel, and arrive at their new homes. Many of our church family have also moved homes, some like us, many times and not just across the country, but around the world. With each new destination and with each new home, God provides our way. Our final move and our final destination is Heaven. In Exodus 23:20, God promises, “Behold, I send an Angel before you to keep you in the way and to bring you into the place which I have prepared.”