Two days ago I spent the morning working on the logistics of move number 10 to Germany.

Yes, Germany. The next big adventure mentioned in my last post.

An entire house to paint, flights to be considered, I need to buy another bed frame for when we turn our home into an Airbnb for the year we’ll be gone.

Head spinning. Options, considerations, plans, expenses, details.

At 11am, my husband returned home from work.

To let me know that with absolutely zero notice whatsoever, he had a job interview at 1pm. His company had a new local position opening up and the coworker they had in mind declined the job.

So, at 1:30pm, they offered my husband the job on the spot.

In two and a half hours, all our plans flipped upside down, again.

Or perhaps they flipped right side up. Because as of two days ago, our lives were supposed to be uprooted. Again. We were going to say goodbye, again. But this time was different, because it was only temporary. One year in Germany.

A dream come true, but we’d have to press pause on our dream here for a year, and while the prospect of Germany thrilled us, we continued to long for stability.

A couple of months before my husband returned from his deployment, we were told that when he came home, he might be off task (unpaid) for six months and then deploy once more. Another unaccompanied deployment isn’t an option, so we started brainstorming. We found a different deployment opportunity–to Germany. Weekends off, a month in the middle to travel. We wouldn’t be sponsored, but his company was fine with us joining him, so we said yes.

And all our plans tipped upside down.

The homesteading dreams–halted. A new community–again. We’d have to leave 10 days before one of my best friend’s babies is due. There would be no time to see my parents before we moved. We had to pull the kids out of school, finish our home renovations so we could Airbnb our house while we were gone.

We’d have to press pause on the lives we’ve built so intentionally here.

For an excellent reason, yes. A house next to the castle in Landstuhl, walking distance from the local bakeries and cafes. Weekends in Paris. A month to explore the Scottish Highlands, meander the winding streets of tiny villages tucked away in the Swiss Alps, and experience real Italian espresso.

I’m not going to lie, my heart aches more than a little bit typing it out. What an opportunity.

Two and a half hours was all the time it took–our plans picked up, flipped upside down, and thrown back at us. We can do nothing but hold our plans loosely as God reminds us we are not in control.

Control–the idol I can’t seem to shake.

God knows, of course. It’s like when you pray for patience and then your kid is up at 3am, your middle two are screaming over who gets the take the lid off the yogurt, you can’t find your phone, the baby twins are in a raging WWE fight, the toddler scribbled all over the kindergartener’s homework, and the toilet is clogged…all before 8am. Argh. I knew I shouldn’t have prayed for patience.

Likewise, with prayers that God would refine my heart. Help me find contentment in the mundane. Teach me surrender.

Yes, daughter, watch and see, He says, as He lovingly sweeps the rug out from under my feet, and then sits with me on the cold floor as I struggle to process the emotions, the change, the absolute lack of control I have over my plans. As I crave both stability and adventure, He chooses for me.

Stability.

Hasn’t that been my goal since we moved here?

It hasn’t been God’s goal. He wants surrender from me. But in His perfect way, He has taught me surrender by handing our family stability. By giving us the chance to build a life of contentment, a mundane life full of chickens and sunshine and sourdough and raw milk and laughter.

What a beautiful life to build for our kids.

I think most valuably, He’s shown me how loved we are. As we’ve been telling those closest to us that we’re staying, they all respond the same.

They try so hard not to grin as they voice their encouragement and acknowledge that we must be so disappointed. They know how much we were looking forward to a year of adventuring abroad. But they are so, so excited we are not leaving. My best friends, our church family and school family and blood family, Corrin’s teacher, our next door neighbors, showing us how much they love our family as they try to hold space for my tumultuous emotions even though they are thrilled.

God has blessed us immeasurably through these people. Our community. This is the fellowship God designed us for.

So here’s my big announcement:

We were supposed to move to Germany for a year in June. But we’re not. We’re staying here, on our little growing homestead in Ohio. We will plant an orchard and wild blackberry bushes, we will get chickens (maybe ducks?) and learn to tap our maple trees. We will finish all the trim and paint in our house at our own pace. We will spend afternoons in the sunshine on the bench under our orange tree and watch the kids ride their bikes and the twins eat grass. We’ll do sourdough pizza on Friday nights and learn the changing patterns of the sun in our fairytale forest as the leaves bud and eventually fall.

I don’t need weekends in Paris.

This is my adventure.

It would be silly for me to claim we’re here to stay. If I’ve learned anything in the past 8 years, it’s that I should never ever say we’re staying in a place for good. In fact, the minute I make that claim God reminds me exactly Who is in charge.

But I’m really, really grateful to call this place home. There’s been a week in between starting and ending this post, and during that week the disappoint has dulled, the relief and gratitude has flourished.

Truly, this is where I want to be. Thank you, Jesus, for knowing better than us.

So, Ohio, we are here to stay. For goo– JUST KIDDING.

Maybe for good. Maybe not.

But for now.