It Could Always Be Worse

My mom had a story she would read to me when I was going up entitled "It Could Always Be Worse."

It told of a rural farmer who was stressed about his small house, his quarreling family, and the demands of life. So, he went to the rabbi in town and asked him for counsel.

The rabbi simply inquired if he had any chickens.
"Yes," the man replied.
"Then, go home and bring the chickens in to live with you."

Now, all the previous conditions existed, but there were also chickens roosting in the rafters and dropping feathers in the food. Cackling about at all hours in the home.

So, a week later the man returned to the rabbi, complaining even more, and the rabbi inquired, "Do you have any goats?"

You can anticipate where the story will go; the goat also came into the home to live, and then, after subsequent trips to the rabbi, the cows and the pigs.

Finally, ready to lose his mind, the man returned to the rabbi, pleading for counsel to help him set his home and life in order. Now, the rabbi instructed him to return all the animals to the barn and pens.

Suddenly, the house was peaceful and serene. Everything was so very quiet. The rooms were so spacious. His wife and children were so very pleasant. Nothing had changed, and yet, everything was better.

Lately, I feel like the man having a similar series of conversations, but not with my rabbi, instead with God.

I made my complaints, and even charted a course to try and reduce stress and create more peace in my home and family life. Then, the plan commenced. And, I have had anything but less stress and peace.

We have been living without our own home for over two months now. We have been separated from Jeffrey for the majority of that time as he finished work in DC and did two weeks of training in Nevada. We have been sandwiched into cars, one bedroom, and small spaces. We have been living out of suitcases. We have had no schedule, no routine, and way too much fast food to eat.

We finally arrived in Boise two weeks ago so the girls could start school. The sale of our home was finalized, and we received the funds for it one week ago. But, our 8 day stay in a tiny 400 SF loft with a microwave and mini-fridge has been extended to 14 days with no end in sight as we wait on some mysterious delay with our lender and the bureaucracy of buying from Fannie Mae.

We have run out of clothes to wear, are sick of eating out and having cold cereal and sandwiches, and desperately need a little personal space.

Jeffrey is working out of this space during the days while I find random activities and shopping expeditions to keep the rest of us out of his way.

We have incurred about $1000 of additional expenses as we have had to unload trucks into storage units and put our trailer into storage and pay more rent. We have had to delay utilities and the delivery of appliances multiple times.

Despite it all, as I stood at the laundromat again this weekend doing some laundry and reflecting on the degree to which I felt like I was living out of may car and barely keeping things together as I tried to support my kids in getting to school and activities without any foundation of a normal home life, I realized it could always be worse.

We could be in this situation, but not have the financial reserves to pay for it.

We could have lost our home and be in this situation as a stop gap before we had no where to live.

We could not have the prospect of a place to go.

We could be all the people whose storage units I passed as emptying our things securely into ours who defaulted on their payments and whose possessions were going to auction.

We could have not had any equity left in our home in DC and been unable to finance all of the costs of this move.

We could not have our health, not be together as a family, not have the church where people keep reaching out to help us if we ever get to move in.

It could always be worse.

And, even more, when we do finally move into our new home, which I worried may feel a bit small as we downsized from Virginia, it is going to feel like a mansion. Just having a routine, and our own space, and a permanent place to be is going to feel like bliss.

I guess sometimes all I really need in life is perspective.