I am preparing to move. Again. Oy.

I do not look forward to this. I hate packing up my worldly possessions, and hauling them from Point A to Point B. I hate all the details that go with moving. I hate paying deposits, and having to deal with asking for deposits already paid to be returned. I hate having to go back to the old place, one more time, to make sure everything's all clean and clear. I hate going to the new place to clean and prep. I hate sweating. I hate lifting. I hate newsprint on my stuff and little packing peanuts scattered everywhere. It's all a pain in the butt.

"If you hate it so much, why don't you just stay put?" I can just hear the question rolling around in the brains of those who know me...and to you I say, "Shut up!"

Sorry...that was the frustrated mover in me speaking out.

I have moved a lot in my lifetime. It started when I was in college, out of necessity. You rent a room at someone's house, and you can only stay there so long. So you must move. Then you rent an apartment with a roommate, and then someone graduates, gets married or moves out for whatever reason. So you move...

Eventually, I got off the roommate train, and decided to go it on my own. Now I move only when my job dictates. Still no fun. Necessary...but no fun.

I will say this: moving keeps you from becoming a pack rat. If you have to pack it up and haul it, you're less likely to hang onto it. I have never been one to rat my pack...I've always kept things pretty streamlined. Even as a kid. I kept things organized and if I didn't need or want it anymore, it went bye-bye. I'm still like that. If I haven't touched, worn or used it in a year, it has to go.

On the flip side, this whole move thing is kind of exciting. The whole idea of being nomadic is somewhat exciting and romantical and junk. But the sentiment can only get you so far...and then you find another box that has to be hauled.

Will I ever settle down in one place? Maybe. If God so leads. For now, I'm keeping my options open. And I'm keeping my boxes and plastic bins. I wonder if U-Haul gives frequent driver rewards...

I have had the honor of working with some great kids over the years. During the time I worked as a youth or student minister (director, coordinator, whatever...) I was always considered part-time or bi-vocational. But in my heart, it was always a full-time gig. When involved in ministering to others, there is no such thing as part-time.

I "retired" from youth ministry a few years ago, because I felt it was time to give more attention to myself and, more importantly, to my family. My family has been patient over the years, always understanding when I couldn't drop what I was doing and come running. They knew I had a lot of young hearts to guide, and that I took that responsibility very seriously. It took up most of my time when I wasn't working my full-time job, and therefore I had no life outside of my students.

I wouldn't have had it any other way.

It may seem selfish at first glance to think that I gave up student work, at least in the way I'd been doing it, for myself (I'll always be involved in student work in some way...). It's understandable to think someone would do that in order to spend more time with his or her family, but to give more attention to yourself? Isn't that ridiculously selfish?

Maybe. I don't think so. At some point, I think you have to.

There were other reasons the time was right for that move, but I don't want to get into that. Not the reason for this blog post, and it's all in the past. I'd like to leave it there.

I've been fortunate enough to have maintained contact with many of "my kids." I was told once I shouldn't call the kids in my youth group that, but I still do. Once my kid, always my kid. I've kept in contact with many of them, initiated by them (because I didn't want to be the creepy old chick who couldn't let go). In recent years, it's been mostly through MySpace or Facebook. And it's been so great to see where their lives have taken them. I'm proud of each and every one of them. They're all wonderful young men and women and I am blessed to have been a small blip on the radar screen of their lives.

With that contact I have seen the joys unfold in their lives, like children, or the sorrows, like the loss of a parent or other loved one. It's been heartbreaking at times, because I can't hold their hand, or hug them close and pray with them like I used to. But I do pray for them. Oh, boy...do I. I always will. At other times, I've been so excited for them that I just about exploded...when they got married, had kids, graduated from college, had success in their careers...whatever. They're my babies...and I'm proud of each of them.

I think I'm most proud of my last youth group at Old Union. I was closer to them that any other group I've ever worked with. And that's saying something – I've had amazing bonds with several student groups over the years, but there was just something extra special about Old Union's group. Maybe it's because I learned and grew more during my time there with them than ever before. Maybe it's because I saw so much growth in them...so much faith and obedience. It was awesome to behold.

I began thinking about that group because I saw some pictures of one of them getting an award in the military. And I realized there are several of my kids from Old Union who are serving their country...Chip, Ryan, Guy, Heather...and Karissa's husband, Erich. Although he's the one that's deployed, Karissa's serving too.

It's an amazing thing that they are all sacrificing so much to serve their country. It takes discipline and serious guts. I don't know if I could do it. I have a lot of respect for these young men and women. I've always thought they were awesome...but now I think they're even awesomer...not a word, I know, but it fits.

I saw that sacrifice in a picture that Karissa has posted on Facebook...I don't know if it was taken the day her hubbie deployed, or before. But you could see the sacrifice...the anguish...the love.. I couldn't help it...I began to weep. I wept for my Rissa Roo, who's at home with her babies while her husband is deployed for a year. I wept for Guy, Ryan, Chip and Heather...who are serving...they're so young...I still see their young faces as kids and it's hard for me to think of them somewhere in a uniform, carrying a gun.

But I have to remember they are babies no more. They are American service men and women.

I thank you, my kids. Freedom isn't cheap.

(If there are others from that group, I didn't intentionally leave you out...I just don't know you're serving...)