And just like that, our life path is finally chosen, the course is set, the boat won’t be turned around easily. We have a closed door, and an open door.
Michelle is thrilled. Finally, we have closure on this job that has been so up-and-down, wearing me down and creating stress for the whole family. Finally, we now have a date set for moving to Montana. Finally, we can mentally commit to being nomads for awhile; it’s hard to live in a place and commit to people, neighborhoods, relationships, and extra-curricular activities if you aren’t sure about your future.
We’ve already started selling our stuff. The front room of our house looks like a yard sale, with boxes and furniture lying around everywhere. Stuff is a funny thing. Even if it’s been in a closet for three years, and I pull it out saying, “Ah! So this is where this went!” I find it hard to part with it. What is this attachment to stuff we have?
I think moving breaks that down. In a situation like ours, where we don’t know where the money will come from, and we don’t know where we’ll be living, we want to sell as much as we can, while still keeping enough to fill a small house when that finally happens down the road. I’ve got to be careful not to sell too much, because it’s definitely easier to buy nicer stuff for less money in a big city.
Meanwhile, the friends and family in the United States all think we’re crazy to be moving back. I’ve heard different messages with the same meaning dozens of times:
“Don’t you know we’re in recession here?”
“I know of two-dozen people who are unemployed right now!”
“Don’t move here unless you have a job first.”
“Why would you leave Canada, anyway?”
Why leave Canada? We want to be near my family, and that’s where they happen to be. We also want to be closer to creation – I have a deep longing to take my kids out into the wilderness weekly in the nicer months of the year, canoeing, camping, sailing, horseback riding. You know, the stuff you can’t afford to do when living in a big city.
We certainly don’t need to be living in America to be near the wilderness, but since that’s where my family is, the two fit together well. Even so, the financial situation there seems awfully scary. With absolutely no job lined up, and no apparent decent jobs available, it looks like we’ll be nomads, with no place to call our own, for quite some time.
We’re not moving to find a better job. We’re moving for our overall quality of life. The job part, well, that’s where we’re taking the leap of faith. We’re trusting that God will provide exactly as we need it. Who knows how that will pan out?
Late last night I had an epiphany. I remembered a friend of mine who’d had a kid a few years back, and I started looking online. “Michelle! Come upstairs! Quick! I want to show you something!”
Michelle came racing up the stairs (as quickly as an 8-month pregnant woman can) and said, “What? What?”
“Look at this!” I eagerly pointed at the computer screen. “We can collect parental leave for thirty-five weeks!”
“What!?” Michelle peered at the screen.
“Canada will pay us 55% of my income for 35 weeks of parental leave. We start collecting as soon as the kid’s born.”
“Wow…” Michelle seemed stunned.
“I love this country.” I smiled at Michelle. “I can’t believe we’re leaving.”
Michelle shook her head.
“And look at this,” I pointed at another website I’d had on the screen. “In the US, our health care would cost a minimum of $450 a month, but if we claim it through Canada, while we’re in transition, we can get travel insurance for up to six months! So that’ll only cost us about $260 a month.”
“Wow…” Michelle started to smile.
“O Canada. You definitely take care of your people.” I shook my head in disbelief. “I definitely want to keep the door open to move back here.”
Michelle nodded.
Why are we leaving Canada? That’s a very good question.
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