Ramblings and Longings Regarding Moving
"There are far better things ahead than what we leave behind."
I hate moving.
To be fair, I haven’t moved around a whole lot in my life. But I still hate it. I hate the packing, the cleaning, and the waiting. I hate littering the house with boxes. And I especially hate tearing down everything that made our living space a home.
Admittedly, hate is a pretty strong word, but I think it applies here.
An update for the folks at home, the Petty family is in the process of moving out of the Los Angeles area and up to North Idaho. We’re moving out of our apartment tomorrow afternoon1 before traveling to visit family in Montana next week. Afterward, we’ll return to Southern California for a time before officially relocating to the Pacific Northwest.
This is by far the longest move I’ve endured, and we’re only really at the beginning.
I’m not sure why I hate the moving process as much as I do. There’s something to be said about my historic dislike of change, but–as there have been so many enormous changes in my life over the past few years–it seems to me that there’s more to it than that. I’ve learned to better embrace the change itself, but physically relocating… That’s something else.
Maybe it has to do with comfort. With enjoying where we’ve been. Honestly, I never thought it would be hard to leave LA, but it’s been an uncharacteristically emotional time. It’s no secret that I don’t exactly love this part of the country, but I’ve grown to love parts of it. This is especially true of our city of Glendale, which has become as much home in some respects as Bozeman or the town I grew up in.
Prior to this year, I’d only been through three major moves, each signifying a new and exciting chapter. Though sometimes the current chapters are so good that it’s hard to want to move on to the next one.
Here is where Hannah and I branched out and forged our own path. It’s where we first lived on our own and learned to be a self-sufficient unit of two. It’s where we first had houseguests. Where we jumped out of our comfort zones and put ourselves out there. Where we met some incredible friends. And, yes, where we became a family of three.
As we’ve been reflecting on all the “firsts” that took place within our one-bedroom apartment’s walls, it’s been increasingly harder to pack up the life we lived here, knowing that it would never be the same again.
The Little Miss’s first word, “Dada,” was uttered here. The first time she rolled over happened on our living room floor (don’t worry, she was on the rug). Her first belly laugh was in our small and humid bathroom (who knew splashing water could be so funny?). The first time she tried solid food was in our bug-infested kitchen, and when we were discharged from the hospital, we brought her home here.
We have countless photographs and videos of our little girl just existing in this place we called home, but it breaks my heart that she won’t remember it. Of course, that’s the nature of it and would be true no matter where we were.
Maybe I’m being too sentimental. Maybe it’s silly to grieve over leaving a place we always knew we’d leave, even if we called it home.
Financially, it’s the right move. Familially, it’s the right move. We’d even argue that spiritually speaking, it’ll be a vehicle in which God continues to sanctify us. Obviously, the Lord has something planned, or He wouldn’t have put everything together so perfectly to make it happen.
But it’s still hard. And moving still sucks.
Nobody’s life stays the same, that much I’ve learned to be true. Things change. People change. Circumstances change. Careers change. This is the way of things, and, as Solomon once said, nothing is new under the sun.
While some changes are bad, this is one that we’re looking forward to. It’s good, and we know it is.
We will miss those we’ve come to love in our time here. We’ll miss our church family and our neighbors. We’ll miss Glendale, and all the good food to be found. There will be plenty of things I won’t miss, but, right now, those that I do are at the forefront of my mind. Naturally, it makes it hard to want to leave.
Just a few week’s ago, we did something special for Mother’s Day that we’ve been wanting to do since we first moved here two and a half years ago.2 Here in Glendale, if you look up, and in the right direction, you can see a giant cross on the top of a building on top of an even bigger hill. At night, it even lights up so you can still see it clearly in the dark.
(A quick aside, what a perfect picture of Christ! He watches over us from above, is always there when we search correctly for Him, and reigns supreme over the light as well as the darkness. Whether this was intentional or not, it’s a good reminder that even a broken and seemingly hopeless place like LA is still under the footstool of Jesus.)
Apparently, one of the largest religious paintings in the world (certainly the largest in North America) is housed in this building with the cross on top of it, which exists at the Glendale location of Forest Lawn – a local cemetery. While it might seem a bit odd to visit a cemetery on Mother’s Day, given that Hannah loves art, I thought it would be a nice way to spend our afternoon.
And it was.
Upon arriving at the Hall of Crucifixion-Resurrection (as we learned the cross-building was rightfully called), we were instantly captivated by Jan Styka’s The Crucifixion, as if transported to the first century ourselves.3 We sat there for a very long time. Even the Little Miss seemed engaged as we stared in awe. We had looked up at this building for years, only to finally lay eyes on what we’d been missing out on this entire time.
Each simulated pool of light illuminates a different aspect of the Gospel accounts, highlighting how intricately they all fit together into one single, cohesive narrative. Styka’s work is truly amazing, and at nearly 200 feet long and 45 feet high, The Crucifixion is one of the most elaborate works of art I’ve ever had the pleasure of viewing.
Needless to say, it was the right move to bring Hannah there for Mother’s Day, I only wish we had made the five-minute trip to Forest Lawn sooner. Sometimes, we need a ticking clock to jump out of our comfort zones and be adventurous. Sometimes a sense of urgency spawns the best results.
It wasn’t long before they brought out Robert Clark’s The Resurrection, which stands 50 feet tall and 85 feet wide. Of course, it was equally as compelling. Rather than highlighting Jesus’ death, it shows the risen Savior addressing the heavenly host of saints, past and future. Protestants and Catholics from different nations unite, with a holy communion that can only be described as a window into eternity.
Apparently, The Resurrection is only brought out upon request, and since we and a few others had requested, they allowed us to view it for about 20 minutes before resuming the regularly-scheduled program. How glad we were that we’d come on a day when so many others had requested to see this masterpiece.
We were clearly at the right place at the right time.
In many ways, that’s exactly how we feel about our time here in Glendale. We moved here at the exact time that our church needed leaders to help with the youth. We moved here right when our church needed a graphic design and digital media assistant (a job I’m thankful to continue remotely). We moved here right before two of our closest friends–who we’d not met before moving to LA–got married and had a baby of their own. Our girls went through their first year (give-or-take) together, and that’s been invaluable.
There are plenty of other examples I could pull from, but the truth is that God had us here at the exact time He did for a reason. I have no idea what they all are, but I trust that they’re there. Likewise, I need to trust that the same will be true when we arrive in Idaho. Even if it’s still sad to leave.
Reflecting on Clark’s The Resurrection reminded me of something profound. No matter how often we move around, or how many new friends we leave behind in doing so, our ultimate home is not here on Earth. Yes, we can be sad and grieve and be thankful for the good times we had, but what’s past is simply prologue to the next adventure.
This morning I was reminded of a Bible passage that has encouraged me to move forward. It may be simple, but oftentimes the simplest things are the most rewarding and the most meaningful.
“Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me. In my Father's house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also.” - John 14:1-3
Not only is God with us always, but Jesus promises His disciples a forever home with Him. One that we’ll never have to move away from or leave behind. Our fellowship with the Church will be forever, and we’ll never feel lonely or sad or like we’re missing something in the presence of the Lord. In fact, He promises to wipe away each and every tear in the end.
It’s not wrong to grieve the end of a chapter, especially such an eventful one. I’m still grieving. But I do so now knowing that there will be a time when I will no longer have to say goodbye. I’ll no longer have to reminisce on times long gone or the moments that slip through my fingers. Peace and joy will one day rule my heart as they do my soul, and hardships will cease eternally.
The namesake of this Substack comes from a line in C.S. Lewis’s The Last Battle, otherwise known as the final installment of The Chronicles of Narnia. At the end of that story, after Aslan destroys the fantasy world, he ushers his faithful followers into a New Narnia that’s simultaneously like and nothing like the old. As the Great Lion invites our heroes “further up, and further in” to explore this new land, they realize that the adventure is just beginning.
We’re not yet in the New Narnia. That is for certain. But I’m hoping to live life in light of the reality of Eternity. No, moving is still not my thing, and I dread the very thought of it. But, I’m doing my best to redeem the time and take hold of what precious hours we have left here.
It’s not always easy, but it’s good.
This Week’s Petty Pick
Ninjas Are Butterflies is a comedy podcast that Hannah and I listen to religiously. Put on by the Cool Carll guys over at Sunday Cool (aka Josh Hooper and Andy DeNoon), the show gets into everything from bizarre personal stories and movie reviews, to cover songs and conspiracy theories.
Josh, Andy, Andrew, and Lilly are an extremely likable bunch who quickly become your best friends. That is if being best friends with someone was one-sided... Anyway, if you’re interested in starting from the beginning, check out their YouTube playlist here.
I’m writing this on Friday, May 26th. We’ll be moving tomorrow (Saturday the 27th) at the time of writing this, but since I don’t know when this’ll be published, I figured I’d add this little note.
It’s hard to believe that it’s only been that long. It feels like we’ve lived in Los Angeles forever now, though that’s likely because we’ve lived here for the vast majority of our marriage and all of our daughter’s life. Simultaneously, it feels like we’ve been here for no time. Some days, the past two years feel more like two months. On others, it feels like half a decade. Time is funny that way.
If you ever have the chance to see The Crucifixion in person, I’d highly recommend it. If you love art, it’s a spectacular feat, and the history behind Jan Styka’s painting is just as fascinating.
Thank you for sharing your heart. Grateful for your time in Glendale and I too grieve a part of your move. I love that little town. Looking forward to visiting you three in your new town. Love you.