The Lord Moves
There was not one thing that built the case for moving. No, it was like laying a path, brick by brick, piece by piece, day by day. It happened over days, weeks, and months. The unacknowledged thought freely bounced around my mind.
In the summer of 2024, Steve was at a memorial service in Hood River. It was on a Sunday. I was elbow-deep in ground beef, mashed potatoes, and cheese, building a Shepherd’s Pie for our Bible study group when I received a phone call from a friend telling me Steve had been transported to the hospital by ambulance because he may have had a heart attack. The clock ticked on, phone calls were made, tests were run, and nothing was found.
A few weeks passed, and we were in the depths of night. Steve woke up feeling like his torso was on fire. Another medical event. After a 42-hour day, we crept home.
Steve sought medical intervention in Portland around Christmas. As he recuperated, we sat in the lounge of Skamania Lodge, gazing out the window as the sun filtered through the trees, low in the winter sky. Out of the blue, I said, “The kids lived under our roof for 20 years, and now they have lived away for 20 years. How about we spend the next 20 years with them while we still have vibrant life in our bones?” It was as subtle as if a boulder had dropped from the heavens and landed at our feet.
We had always said we would stay in Bend as long as Steve’s mom was alive, but she was still a going concern at 96. Meanwhile, our grandkids were 8 and 11, and our sons were established in their marriages and careers. We had seen plenty of folks move to where their kids lived only to see their kids move away. We didn’t see this as a risk to us. It was the long-established church family, friends, and families of origin that tethered us to Bend with tangled roots. Did we have the grit to cut our ties and move? Were we willing to give up so much?
I cannot say I have ever felt the push of the Lord more than I did at this time. My relationship with God has not mirrored those of the Christian writers who speak of God giving them peace to marry their man, start a career, have children, or go to the Moon. Now, however, I felt as though the Lord had loaded me on a dolly and was wheeling me onto the moving truck.
Steve said “yes.” He resonated with the 20/20/20 logic. We pulled out the axe and began chopping ties. I watched tears roll down the cheeks of loved ones, wiped my own away, and received hugs and well wishes as we packed boxes, sold plants, and donated what we no longer needed. Our departure from Bend was truly accomplished in the twinkling of an eye.
We found a home in Woodland, Washington, over Memorial Day weekend 2025 while celebrating Steve’s shared birthday with Bob Dylan at the Outlaw Music Festival in Ridgefield. We buzzed with the excitement of potentially finding the right property, the opportunity to spend more time with our sons and grandkids, and the daunting adventure of starting over. The liquid energy of Lake Street Drive, Bob Dylan, Billy Strings, and Willie Nelson washed over us like an exhilarating tonic.
We celebrated my 65th birthday in July, gathered around the kitchen island of our new-to-us home. From our home on Green Mountain in the High Place subdivision, we view the East Fork of the Lewis River as it flows to the Columbia River, which flows out of sight to the Pacific Ocean. Our sons and their families were with us.
It is stoic to say that we are as strong as bricks. Many old buildings in Portland are built from bricks, sturdy and able to stand the test of time. If you look closely, however, the bricks are chipped, cracked, and weathered. Steve and I sustained plenty of chips and cracks moving, but together with the Lord we are still standing strong. We are where we are supposed to be for such a time as this.
We miss Bend and our people, but we love Woodland and all we have found. The Lord moves in mysterious ways. It depends on which word you emphasize, doesn’t it?
PS: A year later, we see what God saw…
We had a year to sow deeply into our relationship with our son and grandchildren in Portland. In early 2026 our son’s marriage shattered, and the household split. You know how this story plays out. Hearts are broken, lives are torn, and we are here close by to support and bear with those who are hurting. Thank God.
The son and daughter-in-law in Kalama just celebrated the birth of their son in August. They hadn’t planned to have children in 2025, but God opened their minds, hearts, and womb. We are so grateful to be here for this gift to our family.