As a true ENFP personality on the Myers Briggs test, I like to fly by the seat of my pants more often than not. When H asks me (almost daily) “What are you plans today?” it makes me cringe a bit.

While knowing what lies ahead is helpful, I don’t enjoy being overly organized and planned out. I like to leave room for the wind to blow on my circumstances. I know, I know, you people that need things concrete in order to function are rolling your eyeballs.

If you are a loyal follower here, then our family journey to London is familiar. You know it’s providing the perfect storm of uncertainty even for this girl who revels in a little spontaneous adventure.

The call is sure and we know London is the destination but the details are slow in the unfolding. This faith journey has pushed me beyond what I assumed were my limits. And I’ve grown in ways I didn’t anticipate.

Which is kind of like the wind blowing like a hurricane and creating a challenging mess, right?

During morning prayers recently, I asked God about whether or not I should join thousands of bloggers in October and embark on writing what will be my third 31 days series, given our uncertain situation. And a random thought blurred past like a child running across a crowded living room of seated adults.

When it was confirmed in H a few hours later, I knew it wasn’t random. The serendipity was divine confirmation.

“You should write 31 Days to London and make it completely different than your usual blog posts,” he said to me with a smile and a bit of exuberance.

“Yes, like a peek into my personal diary or reading the The Miller Enquirer without the sex and scandal,” I laughed.

This is the gift in 24 years of marriage. We consistently think the same thoughts about almost everything. During our engagement, I knew I was in for a treat when we were picking out our wedding wishes and walked across the store, directly to the same china pattern.

In Listening to Your Life, Frederick Buechner writes about the biblical view of history saying, “It is for each of us a series of crucial, precious, and unrepeatable moments that are seeking to lead us somewhere.

The true history of mankind and the true history of each individual man has less to do than we tend to think with the kind of information that gets into most histories, biographies, and autobiographies. True history has to do with the saving and losing of souls, and both of these are apt to take place when most people including the one whose soul is at stake are looking the other way. The real turning point in a man’s life is less likely to be the day he wins the election or marries the girl than the morning he decides not to mail the letter or the afternoon he watches the woods fill up with snow. The real turning point in human history is less apt to be the day the wheel is invented or Rome falls than the day a boy is born to a couple of hick Jews.”

Beginning today, I plan to write every day in October about our move to London and it won’t be what you usually get in your inbox. This will be like a personal journal entry similar to the Sabbath Society letters I send out to nearly 400 people every Friday about rest.

My life is fluid and I have relinquished any timetable or preconceived notion about the end result. What you will get is a vulnerable account of the way of trust. My prayer is that you will find a glimmer of hope and meaning through my imperfect journey of brave surrender.

God will choose how it ends on October 31st. It might be in London, moving into a new house or where I’m sitting in my beach town on the Atlantic. I’m fine with flying by the seat of my pants.

Join me?


I won’t be sharing my posts on social networking channels daily because who wants to see that much of me, really? If you want to follow our adventure to London subscribe to the blog in the side bar and posts will slide quietly into you inbox.

If you are new here, welcome! If you would like more information on why I’m moving to England read Gloriously Ruined: Why We are Moving to England and search London in the archives for further posts.