I’ve always loved vacuuming. There’s just something very satisfying and even therapeutic about seeing those carpet lines form. One of my favorite compliments I’ve ever received was from a friend who happened to see me finishing up vacuuming one day: “You would make a great crop duster.”

Today I discovered a new joy: I didn’t need to move the vacuum cord plug for the entire job. Yes, Dyson does give you generous cord length to work with, but in the nearly thirty years and dozen homes in which we’ve lived, this was a first. I think I’m gonna like this place.

Last week we moved from the large house in which we raised our two kids to an apartment. To say that I was dreading becoming emotionally unglued leaving this home is an understatement. I had been packing 3,300 square feet of house for months since we made the decision to downsize as both girls had graduated and moved out. Actually, we started this process over a year ago, but timing didn’t work out between business and family needs; plus we didn’t want to try to sell our home during the holidays. More time for me to procrastinate and delay the inevitable.

But vacuuming and running have proven very therapeutic recently.

As with many runs, I use that time to pray, worship, and sometimes pour out my heart to Jesus. I’ve cried often during runs this year since we learned of my dad’s Parkinson’s in January. He was actually diagnosed two years ago but didn’t tell anyone.

Paralyzed. That is the best way to describe how I have felt whenever I think about my parents’ situation AND how I have felt waking up every morning to empty moving boxes and piles of stuff staring back at me beckoning to be sorted, donated, trashed, or bubble wrapped. Have I mentioned I’m OCD? I mean not like medically diagnosed, but the kind that drives you crazy if things can’t be assigned a specific category, don’t have a place, or are oddly shaped. To compound my frustration, dealing with both of my parents’ memory loss led me to a rock bottom moment in which I asked myself these two questions:

Why bother saving/packing ANYTHING if no one’s gonna remember ANY of it? What’s the point of ANYTHING I do if it won’t be remembered?

I shared those debilitating thoughts with Dave after visiting some memory care facilities and seeing end stage patients. That night I cried big, ugly tears – the kind where you can’t talk simultaneously.

I’ve since realized Parkinson’s is a cruel disease – as with most diseases – and that my dad can’t help a lot of stuff he says or does now. But God is greater and knows our hearts and minds. None of the events of the past few months comes as a surprise to Him. God is good and has proven His authority, sovereignty, and power to save time and time again. On the most difficult of days, I have found great peace in the assurance that all of us who believe in Jesus will receive our ultimate COMPLETE healing in Heaven.

My parents’ health will likely become worse and helping them will likely get harder. Three weeks ago I ran the Diablo Trails Challenge 50K with over 8,000 feet of elevation. Before the race, I said to myself that these hills are gonna be easier than the climbs I have already and will face with my dad’s disease. I’d rather climb the Summit and North Peak ten times over than face what they’re going through.

Surprisingly, recovery went well from that challenging race. Nothing like a 17 minute PR and third place age group win to get you pumped up to finish packing and move five days later. Was I insane to schedule this move sandwiched between a 50K and Big Sur Marathon one week later? Pretty much. Part of me thinks I did this knowing full well how I would be feeling emotionally about closing the door on the home which was the setting for eight graduations, several career changes, financial highs and lows, our first and only dog, many successful and unsuccessful meals (ahem, salmon spaghetti needs to be forgotten), swim team travails/victories, and Cal football festivities – just to name a few.

My last night at the house God reminded me of a verse I used as a classroom theme when I taught third grade. We’d even made it into a class cheer one year. So as I strapped packing tape on those last boxes and ate take out Mexican since I’d packed all our dishes, pots, and pans, I fervently prayed Philippians 3:13-14 over and over:

“Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I PRESS ON toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.”

I felt such a huge burden lifted after praying that Scripture. And then an overwhelming calm, peace, and even joy.

It’s totally fine and natural to cry; however, I didn’t want that to steal the joy of recounting His blessings over the past 11.5 years. This was the home in which we were days away from foreclosure 9 years ago that by HIS GRACE, MERCY, AND FAVOR we were allowed to stay as long as we did and recover not only financially but many other ways.

God showed me that last night at my old house that this is just another race and moving is the start of a new race. I always pray to finish strong in any race.

Three weeks ago at Mt. Diablo, I felt strong and had something left in the tank those last 5 miles. Enough to finish strong. Last weekend at Big Sur (marathon #47 for me), I finished my last two miles faster than my first two and ran up every hill – even Hurricane Point. Jesus and I finished strong.

Moving day was more physically exhausting than any race I’ve ever run. But God was in all the details down to providing His OCD child with a courteous, meticulous moving crew who quadruple bubble wrapped every painting, mirror, and light bulb, and taped every loose screw as well as re-positioned some VERY heavy furniture several times until I thought it looked “just right.” Words can’t describe the overwhelming peace and closure I have felt since moving. Jesus and I (and three very patient movers) finished strong.

Lastly, perhaps as a litmus test for how God has changed my perspective on downsizing, hoarding years of unnecessary stuff, and holding on too tightly to material items, I can only laugh as THIS happened on our way home from the Big Sur marathon:

Maybe that’s why I love vacuuming. It’s a chance to make something look fresh and new again.