We Bought a Farm: Extremely Excited. Slightly Overwhelmed.

I am busy posting pictures.

I am documenting this huge change of lifestyle that we are in the midst of undertaking -- feverishly -- not wanting to forget a moment of where we were, who we used to be, where we are going, and before long, who we will be.

JB and I were raised in the Fort Lauderdale suburbs. Neither of us really had a backyard to speak of. We are used to living in the midst of things and having neighbors on all sides of us.

We are used to always being around people.

And I'm realizing that that feeling makes you feel like you are not alone.

We are preparing to move to a 100-acre farm where our "neighbors" are actually the only houses we can see from the hills on our property.

And as I post all these pictures, it'd be very easy to pretend that everything is as picture-perfect as the pictures I post.

Take Sidge (above) wide-eyed with excitement about a new plant he discovered by the pond we have named "Chicken Pond." (It looks like a chicken running if you squint your eyes real tight and turn your head 87 degrees.)

Or Abigail (right) excitedly showing off one of the worms she has just found while munching on her graham cracker -- completely oblivious to big brother photo-bombing in the background.

These pictures make my heart happy. They assure me each time I snap one, that we have done the right thing. More than wanting a farm ourselves, we wanted our children to grow up in the country -- with plenty of space to roam.

Goodness knows they have that space.

But in the midst of pictures of farms and hills and trees, there are moments of fear and doubt.

In fact, the biggest emotion that circles around me right now is FEAR. I fear my ability to live out in the country. Will I miss neighbors? Will I grieve the ability to run down the road for what I need? Will I covet those of you who can pop from activity to activity because you are close by and those activities are plentiful?

And even more than the fears of living removed is a fear of not having friends. I've moved many, many times during the last twenty years of my life. But each time I felt that friends had sort of been prepared for me. When I went to college I had my team. When I went to Minnesota we had the medical school. When JB started residency he had the families of the fellow residents. Turkey. Azores. Prepared friends.

But not here.

Here we do not immediately belong to any group. And what if I don't make any friends? What if I am alone?

And what about the amount of effort that meeting and making friends requires.

I know all the answers to these questions. I am not alone. I have four children and a set of grandparents and a husband here with me. And a dog of course. Yes, always my dog.

And we have so many people intent of visiting us here. In fact, the month of July has already been nearly filled with visitors scheduling their trips. I'll be seeing many of YOU and that isn't lonely.

I have always supported my husband's dream of this farm. And as we walk the grounds, I have no doubts that this is where God wants me. And way down, in the deep spots of my spirit, the Lord is assuring me that everything will be okay. That this is where I belong, and He will take care of the details.

But it would be a false representation of the truth if I didn't share that doing something new is scary. JB likens it to the story of the young boy who threw his hat over the fence. He was afraid to cross a field but knew it was the only way to go. So he threw his hat over the fence knowing that he'd have to go into the field if he did that.

We have thrown our hat over the fence. We are giddy with excitement with what that means. We love the land, the house, the location.

But there is fear. There is doubt.

When we look around and see cattle roaming we think: "Holy cow. What did we do? Can we do this? How will we do this?"

When we found out we were eight weeks pregnant with Sidge when Isaac was only six weeks old, a friend asked me how I was doing. I was speechless so she said, "Extremely excited? Slightly overwhelmed?"

Yes, that's it.

That was the emotion then. And that is the emotion now.

We've thrown our hat over.

Time to walk through that field.