June 15, 2026
Almost everything in my life has changed in the past month, and I am finally ready to tell the tale. But, even as I say that, I have no idea where to begin.
How do I explain what surely amounts to a lifetime of change that we somehow crammed into mere weeks? The answer, it seems, is to start writing and let the story take on a life of its own. So, here goes:
It started with a mission call…
Florida Tampa Mission, Spanish speaking, beginning November 4.
He is excited, and we are SO proud of him.
He hoped to leave in early September to avoid moving to KC with us after working in Utah until Labor Day, but that was not meant to be. I, however, will not complain.
After the mission call came an endless series of “lasts.”
The last band concert.
The last awards ceremony.
The last day of high school.
The last family dinner.
The last hike on my favorite desert trails.
The last visit to the temple that forever changed me.
And on. And on. And on.
My head is spinning just thinking about it.
And, before we knew it, Carson was walking across the stage to get his high school diploma. And, hours after that, he got into a car and drove to Utah to start the rest of his life.
Watching him drive away with Kate and Elise, who were also heading back to Utah, leaving Greg and me alone to finish packing our lives into boxes, was when reality finally sank in: this was the end of an era.
Our house would no longer echo with the noise of teenagers, youth groups, and music whose words I did not know.
There would be no waiting for kids to get home from school or teens to walk in from a date and spill all the juicy tea.
There would be no sibling rivalry that ended with board games being tossed in the trash. (Monopoly, I’m looking at you!)
There would be nobody to crawl into bed between Greg and me at some ridiculous hour to talk about all the things that were bothering them.
I would no longer have Sunday dinner with my kids, daughters-in-law, and grandbabies. At least not for a while.
And the three-year-old who, after a month, still doesn’t understand why he can’t go to Nana and Papa’s house? That one continues to break my heart.
Watching our kids drive away, leaving us to grapple with a houseful of boxes and a lifetime’s worth of memories, was like watching our lives in slow motion.
We didn’t say much because the words were elusive. Instead, we dried our tears and packed one more box. And another. And another. The stack of boxes continued to grow while the day slipped away like a dream.
The next week was a blur. Greg had to fly from Phoenix to Kansas City midweek to work, like he has every week since January. I finished packing, cleaning, and preparing for the movers to load our lives into a U-Haul. He flew back just in time to drive that truck, expertly packed to the hilt, to our new Missouri home.
It felt surreal as we closed the door on our home of 13 years, bid one last goodbye to the temple we could see from our porch, and drove away into a life we did not fully comprehend.
A life in an unfamiliar place.
A life beyond raising children.
A life in a quiet house where my purpose was not yet clearly defined.
I couldn’t wrap my mind around all of that while in the cab of a U-Haul. So we drove, looking forward instead of back, to a place where God had clearly called us to go. And if He were there, everything would be OK, no matter the sacrifice involved.
Now, here I sit, in my new home office, writing my story as it unfolds.
The boxes are unpacked. The rooms are cleaned and organized, and somehow, they stay that way with very little effort. (It’s like magic!)
The walls are starting to take shape, displaying things that are both beautiful and deeply meaningful to me.
I am back in the kitchen cooking yummy meals at least a couple of times a week, and loving it. (Leftovers stretch for miles these days.)
It is starting to feel like home.
Greg’s last day working at his Arizona office is this week, which will free him up to be with me in Kansas City full-time. After six months of living apart for half of each week, we are both excited to be together. (Although he has complicated feelings about leaving the office he has built with 18 years of blood, sweat, and tears.)
We are slowly meeting people and getting involved in the ward here. It is small compared to what we are used to, but we already feel so welcomed.
I still don’t know how to get anywhere without Apple Maps telling me where to go. But, somehow, that is enough.
Of course, there are days when I long for the familiarity of Arizona and miss the bustling house that was so full of people and love. I miss my kids and grandkids. I wish I could hike with the friends whom I could trust with the things of my soul.
But there is much to love about Missouri. It is different, yes, but in a holy sort of way.
Here, I am beginning to create a new life with God. It is slowly taking shape as I take one tentative step into the darkness after another, trusting that He is guiding me through the unknown.
And, with Him by my side, I can do all things, even when those things involve navigating crazy Midwestern tornadoes. But that is another story for another day.
Welcome to my Missouri life. I’m glad you’re here.
**Read the rest of this journaling series here
