Why this blog was not titled “Mama:Monk of San Francisco”

When I started writing to all you lovely people, I was pretty lonely. I was a SAHM in a new city, walking with my eighteen month old down steep sidewalks that didn’t feel like they belonged to me, adjusting my life as a mom to a yard-less home (apartment) and the community of neighborhood parks. I was a girl from Amarillo pushing a stroller up San Francisco hills! (Do you comprehend how distinct those two differences are? Please click here to grasp the flatness of Amarillo, Texas.)

Here’s what happened to me from that time till now:

• I lost five pounds from pushing a stroller up to Coit Tower on a regular basis (that is where I had to park my car, people).
• I spent my time (pre-friends) reading lots of books about Benedictines and telling you about them.
• I found the sweetest community of moms I’ve ever experienced. We were (are) all transplants trying to raise our kids in a crazy and expensive city without family nearby. We made food for each other. We passed kids’ clothes on to each other. We prayed for each other. We loved each other’s kids. And these women were smart and gifted and challenging to me in a beautiful ways.
• I was found by the dearest twenty-something Bible study ever. They called themselves YOOBS for goodness sake. They prayed for me and sat in my home every Sunday night so we could talk about God and joy and calling. They became fifteen little aunties for August. And they fed me brownies and took me out to movies.
• I got pregnant and suffered several months of at home ickiness but only threw-up in public one time on a city sidewalk with my little boy by my side.
• I fell in love with our church and learned life-altering truths from my pastors and spiritual director about my significance in Christ (whether or not my work is perceived as valuable in my culture).
• I complained about the weather. A lot.
• I had a baby named Brooks.
• I watched my husband struggle with his value in his work. I prayed with him through months of asking God what we were supposed to be doing and where we were supposed to be living.

We got an answer. And we’re moving to Austin.

Chris found a job he’s really excited about, an opportunity we couldn’t turn down. And, though I never imagined I’d have the chance to live in my home state again, I’m going to have a Texas driver’s license! And I’m going to drive my boys the two and a half hours to my 90-year-old grandmother’s house and let her love them.

So, here’s my announcement: I’m leaving this fair city. I have fallen in love with it and its idiosyncrasies, its noise, its food, its naked people (why can’t people in this town put clothes on?!), even (can I actually say this?) its scarf-weather. I was not prepared to leave it or the people I love here so soon. We leave them in three weeks. And I’m heartbroken about it.

Chris says it’s good to be heartbroken. That means we put down roots here. We lived in the present. We practiced stability in the small way we could.

So, here we go. You get to hear me cry about it for the next few weeks, and then cry about how I need friends for the next chunk of months. But, by golly, I will rejoice in summertime weather. If I complain about summer in Austin, you have the right to unsubscribe to this blog.

Until then,

Micha