Lights, Camera, Action!

We've all seen it before. The cliche scene from a television show or movie. You know, the one where two people are sitting around talking and one says something about the thing they really want. Often it is something that to the viewer seems very out of reach for the character. But, the conversation continues with a list and plan of action for what needs to happen to accomplish it, and the main character is filled with a certain confidence. The other person is somewhat hesitant at first, but then quickly agrees because it all seems straightforward and so simple. Then you hear the first character utter the words that are so very telling: "How hard could it be?" And you know for certain that many blunders and comical moments are yet to come. You watch the scene unfold knowing it can't possibly be as easy as the characters assume because, obviously, then it wouldn't be good entertainment.

That was us three years ago. Fast forward to now and the chain of events that has transpired in that time is certainly enough to be considered good entertainment. Or at least I'd think so if only it hadn't been my real life. Lest I start to sound like the Queen of Complaints (a title I do occasionally own), I'll readily admit: It could have been far worse. But the frustrations, setbacks, extra expenses, and overall comedy of errors we’ve experienced definitely caused a fair amount of uncertainty at times. I got to the point where I wondered if we'd ever catch a break, and that was before we’d even begun the major task of turning our newly purchased raw land into something livable. And once we started, we definitely had our fair share of blunders and comical moments.

The idea that it would be so simple to just sell our farm and find the perfect new place wasn't necessarily naive, just hopeful. But where I was unaware was in assuming that the plan we came up with would work out to the last grand detail, and exactly in our desired timeline. Of course that was far from the reality of things. Selling our property in Minnesota took longer (much longer) than we anticipated. Searching for new property was exhausting in a way that we couldn’t have imagined. The conjunction of excitement for the outcome and the frustratingly burdensome process left us feeling worn and depleted.

I’m not really sure where my expectations even came from. But, even if they weren’t necessarily realistic, the feelings that accompanied the disappointment of those expectations not being met were very real. And very raw in the moment. I kept returning to the image I’d crafted and I felt slighted. As if some imaginary force was conspiring to erase everything I’d put forth as my certain future, it felt like a negative magnetic force to our positive one. If I had been wise enough to look at everything from a different perspective I might have noticed that some roadblocks aren’t there to stop you, but merely to divert you to a preferred path. 

Time and time again we were met with the need to reprioritize or change decisions altogether. Sometimes it was extremely frustrating, like making many phone calls in an attempt to hire subcontractors and finding each one a dead end. Other times we’d laugh and shout “Pivot!”, like when our equipment would break down for the third time in the same week and we had to make another tool work to get the job done. Small projects would turn into big projects. We’d map out our order of operations, carefully determining what would need to be accomplished before beginning the next step, only to find ourselves realizing that step number five should have happened before we started step number one when we were already finished with step number two. Tools went missing. Parts couldn’t be found at the local stores. Inquiries were never returned. Interruptions to progress happened almost daily. 

At every turn we were confronted with the same conclusion, and frankly I'm a little surprised it took us so long to see what God had been putting in front of us all along. We had to learn to accept what is minimally sufficient for us. It's ironic, in a way, considering a major part of the purpose in moving was to reduce worldly attachments and build greater self-sufficiency into our lives. Stepping back from what we thought we were going to do, giving in fully to possibly needing to entirely change plans, and then finally moving forward became a theme. And eventually we realized that what was sufficient for us to be able to move forward was almost always far less than we'd first assumed. Most often it also meant figuring out how to accomplish things on our own rather than looking to outside sources.

Of course, for my husband this sort of mentality comes naturally. Being raised a farm boy taught him to solve problems with whatever skills, tools, and resources he has already acquired. Once he applied that mindset to everything we were trying to accomplish, the frustrations, setbacks, and extra expenses became passable annoyances. Our forward momentum started to show, and items were permanently checked off the list. We gained a renewed motivation and acceptance for modifications. 

And for me, I began to see the value in my husband’s mindset in a way I’d never bothered to before. It wasn’t enough to completely dull the sting from those many blunders; but I certainly learned beneficial lessons and not long after stepping foot onto our newly purchased land I felt a stirring, the beginning of a transformation. More than just forming a piece of land into a homestead, pushing dirt to make way for a foundation, removing trees to reveal the view of a sunrise over the ridgeline, digging in rocks to setup amenities, and developing an atmosphere of serenity that turns a place into a home; this was the kind of transformation that ran deep and began breaking concrete pieces of my spirit that should have been removed long ago. And looking back on that carefully crafted plan, the discussions and lists of items and timelines we’d put in place when that initial conversation began, made it seem almost silly. The answer to the question should have been obvious: It will be as hard as it needs to be. Because, just like a good story, life’s turns can’t be known before they are experienced, otherwise the end wouldn’t make as much of an impact when you get there.