I’m ready to begin a new year, which surprises me. It has always been hard for me to let things go, even a calendar year.

For instance, before I left the first house we bought and moved “up” to a nicer one, I actually went through a mourning period. Brief, compared to some of my more notable bouts of mourning, such as the emptying of our nest or leaving the college classroom I loved, but significant, nonetheless.

One night shortly before we moved out of that first little house, I got out of bed, pulled on my jeans and a t-shirt and walked barefooted down our familiar street. As wonderful as I anticipated the days ahead to be, a happy six-year chunk of my life was over, and at least a brief mourning was called for.

After one last look at my little world, I walked up the driveway toward the back door. Then I did something that, even then, I hoped no one saw. I walked over to the side of the house, pushed aside the shrubs and—hugged the house. Yes, I can hardly believe it myself.

After I had embraced it a minute or so, or maybe it was a few seconds—it’s hard to say, I thanked it for six wonderful, growing years and said goodbye.

That was over thirty years ago, and letting go to embrace change hasn’t become easier, even when it’s necessary or beneficial.

But a theory of counseling, and also a premise of Scripture it seems to me, maintains that change is desirable and attainable. The wonderful book of Philippians says that “he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus (1:6).

Finally, I find myself beginning to welcome change that can bring about growth. (Note that it unnerved me a bit to write that.)

Tony and I just recently signed a contract to sell our home in the Joplin area (three removed from that first one). We built it five years ago and planned to spend Act III here. But after we both retired from jobs that required our being in Joplin, our daughter Leanne urged us (perhaps the word “badgered” is more precise :-) to move to Branson, MO, and build a house on one of their acres, which overlooks a field of cows and Taneycomo Lake:  “You can write here, Mom!“

When we began contemplating it, I woke myself up one night saying, “I’m afraid.“ Well, we’ve been in Joplin 41 years, most of our married life, and Tony says if you cut me I’d bleed Ozark (OCC) blue, so yes—fear. But I prayed about it, of course, and not even a week later Tony and I were saying, “Why not?“

Packing up to move, leaving Joplin—its people and places, building another house, being in limbo while it is built, revising another novel and asking God to provide still other stories—these things await us in 2010. And other things no doubt—things we can imagine and others we can not.

But I’m going into the new year remembering the one who said, “It is I; don’t be afraid.“ And I’m asking for God’s love, wisdom, and power to help me in the days ahead.

In connection with that, there are five verses in Philippians I plan to memorize and hope to live by this next year (and the years that follow). Maybe I’ll tell you about that next week.