Could This Be Home?

We were in Wyoming for Christmas, visiting Vic's family, and that afternoon we'd been out riding four-wheelers around the ranch. I was riding behind Vic, watching the snow begin to gather on the branches of the trees lining the road.

That evening, the ranch house was full. Everyone was gathered around the dinner table, the kids and the rest of the family, with conversations happening all around us.

At some point, I looked across the room and saw Vic sitting in his dad's recliner. He was relaxed and laughing. I watched him longer than I meant to.

The years leading up to that Christmas had held plenty of good things, but they had also asked a lot of us. And something about seeing Vic there, back on the ranch where he had grown up, made me wonder what it might be like if this wasn't just a place we came for Christmas.

Then, somewhere in the middle of all the dinner conversation, Beth mentioned some of the changes happening around the ranch and that she would be looking for someone to help with the work.

She wasn't offering Vic a job. She wasn't suggesting that we move. It was simply part of the conversation.

But suddenly, a thought I'd never seriously considered was sitting there with me.

Could this be home for us?

It wasn't a decision. It wasn't even a plan. It was just a possibility.

Back at the cabin, I finally said it out loud to Vic.

What would it look like for us to move here?

He was surprised. I think he had long ago decided that I would never want to leave Lexington. And honestly, I understood why. We had a good life there. A paid-off house, jobs we liked, friends we loved, and my mom and family only two hours away.

Moving to Wyoming meant leaving something that was already working. We weren't running away from a bad situation. We would be choosing something different, and there were some pretty big questions attached to that choice.

Could I really live that remotely? What would it mean to be that far from my mom and family? What about our jobs, our friends, our house? What if I hated ranch life? What if Vic loved being back here and I didn't?

Beth eventually offered Vic the job, and he accepted. Even then, we didn't immediately tell everyone. We sat on the decision for a while. We talked about it late at night and turned it over from every angle.

The questions never completely disappeared, but underneath them, the sense of peace about moving stayed.

Eventually, we started telling the people closest to us, and those conversations made the cost of the decision real.

Vic's best friend, who was also his boss, was understandably very sad. Telling my mom was heartbreaking too. She knew what moving meant. I would be much farther away, and there was no way to make that part of the decision easy.

We knew we were leaving people and a life we loved.

We also knew we could make this choice with peace.

We put our house on the market, and it sold within a day with multiple offers. By May, after the school year was over, we were headed west with an agreement that we'd give Wyoming a year and see how it went.

We didn't know what that year would hold. We didn't know if we'd stay or go back to Kentucky.

We just knew we were willing to take the next step.

That story makes me think differently about what Paul means when he says, "Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts."

Pastor Isaac pointed out that some translations use the word "umpire" instead of "rule." I love that picture. An umpire is there to call the play, to help determine what counts and what doesn't. In the middle of a decision, something is going to have a voice. It might be fear. It might be anxiety. It might be what other people think we should do. Or it might be the peace of Christ.

But that word "let" matters too.

Peace wasn't a substitute for the work of deciding. It was what we kept coming back to while we did that work.

Vic and I had to actually make the decision. We talked. We asked questions. We considered what we would be leaving behind and what we might be stepping into. We didn't know exactly what would happen, and we couldn't guarantee that moving to Wyoming would turn out the way we hoped.

We were using the freedom God had given us to choose, while also paying attention to what was happening in our hearts as we chose.

That's why I think testing matters. Isaac talked about not rushing peace. If something really is peace from Christ, we can give it time and see whether it holds. We don't have to grab onto the first feeling we have and call it God's direction.

That's part of what happened for us. We didn't announce the move the minute we got excited about the possibility. We held it between us for a while. We talked about it again and again. We let the questions come. We let the reality of what we would be giving up sink in.

We eventually agreed to give Wyoming a year.

Looking back, I think that year was part of the discernment too. We didn't need to know everything before we took the next step. We needed to be willing to take the step and pay attention to whether the peace held.

Peace doesn't always give you certainty about what is going to happen next.

Sometimes it simply gives you enough confidence to take the next faithful step.

The eleven years since haven't always looked the way we imagined. Vic's work has taken different turns, and there have been hard seasons and plenty of things we couldn't have predicted from that Christmas night.

And yet, the peace didn't disappear just because life didn't unfold exactly the way we thought it might.

These days, I can sit in our living room and look over at Vic in his own recliner. Outside the window is the pasture his dad loved. The ranch that once belonged to Vic's childhood is now the place where our life is happening.

Sometimes I look around and think about that question from all those years ago.

Could this be home for us?

It is.

Not because we know what the next eleven years will hold. Not because every part of living here has been easy. And not because choosing Wyoming somehow guaranteed that everything would work out exactly the way we hoped.

It is home because this became our life. This is where we've put down roots, built friendships, raised our family, and made a life together.

And right now, this does feel like home. I don't want to live anywhere else.

For now, that's enough.


This Week
Think about one decision you're carrying right now, especially one where there isn't necessarily a right or wrong choice, just two different paths forward.

Start by giving yourself permission to slow down and listen. Write down the questions, fears, and practical concerns that come with the decision. Then, underneath all that noise, pay attention to whether there is any sense of peace.

You don't have to make the decision today. Give it some time. Come back to it in a few days and ask yourself: Is the peace still there?

You may still have questions. You may still feel nervous. You may still have reasons to hesitate. Peace doesn't mean all of that disappears.

The question is whether, underneath it all, the peace of Christ is still there.

Prayer
Lord,
When questions, fear, and other people's opinions get loud, help us slow down and listen.

Give us grace not to rush to an answer, but to bring our questions honestly to you and pay attention to what remains underneath the noise.

Let the peace of Christ rule in our hearts and guide us as we choose our next faithful step.
Amen.