Painting Pictures of Egypt

I don’t want to leave here
I don’t want to stay
It feels like pinching to me either way
The places I long for the most
Are the places where I’ve been
They are calling after me like a long lost friend

—Sara Groves, “Painting Pictures of Egypt“

I recently moved to a new home. A house. My husband and I are first-time homeowners. I have 2 kids now. A lot has changed. I was in our apartment since I first moved to Pennsylvania in 2006. We moved to our new home in December 2019. 13 years there. 13 whole years. That’s over a decade and time to plant yourself somewhere. Especially for renting.

Now I’m in my new home—house—I miss my apartment. I miss the memories. I miss the familiarity. I miss the convenience. I lived right across the street from the train station, was near a nice library, and around the block from good friends. Everything was in walking distance with access to various restaurants. It was a walkable town. It felt more like the suburbs of Long Island in which I grew up.

“I don’t want to leave here.” I didn’t want to leave the apartment. It had, over time, become my home.

“I don’t want to stay.” There was no way we could stay. We had 2 kids and a one bedroom apartment with a loft was not big enough to house 4 people.

“It feels like pinching to me either way.” I just felt stuck in between. Yes, we needed to move. Yes, we needed to find a new home for the 4 of us, but good golly, couldn’t we just make things work somehow?

“The places I long for the most are the places where I’ve been. They are calling after me like a long lost friend.” The apartment is what I know. Apart from 3 months at my in-laws’ house, 13 years of my life has been spent there. I knew the neighborhood and what I needed like the back of my hand. After being in this house for a few weeks, I just wanted to move back. I no longer had access to “this” or to “that.”

It’s not about losing faith
It’s not about trust
It’s all about comfortable
When you move so much
The place I was wasn’t perfect
But I had found a way to live
It wasn’t milk or honey
But then neither is this

—Sara Groves, “Painting Pictures of Egypt”

“It’s not about losing faith. It’s not about trust.” It wasn’t that I didn’t trust God to take care of me in my new home. It really had nothing in terms of worrying about how he’d provide for me.

“It’s all about comfortable when you move so much.” While this is one of the least applicable lyrics of the song to my life since I was planted in the same spot for 10+ years, it really was all about “comfortable.” Change is uncomfortable. And it’s hard.

“The place I was wasn’t perfect but I had found a way to live. It wasn’t milk or honey but then neither is this.” My old home wasn’t perfect. It had its drawbacks. (But of course, because I’m painting pictures of Egypt right now, I can’t think of any.) But I adapted. I learned how to adjust to my surroundings. It only took over a decade! But my new home isn’t perfect either. I’m not across the street from the train station anymore. I don’t live in a walkable area. I have to drive to have access to restaurants rather than cross a parking lot. Friends are not around the block.

“I’ve been painting pictures of Egypt
Leaving out what it lacked
The future seems so hard
And I want to go back
But the places that used to fit me
Cannot hold the things I’ve learned
And those roads closed off to me
While my back was turned”

—Sara Groves, “Painting Pictures of Egypt”

In Egypt, the Bible says it was a land flowing with milk and honey. There was food. There was an abundance. Sure, the Jews were slaves to the Egyptians, but they had stuff. Leaving Egypt, while everything was provided for and they had a place to sleep, they were wanderers. They lived on manna from heaven, which certainly didn’t feel like the lush life they thought they enjoyed. They moved a lot. But were static in Egypt. The Israelites forgot that they were SLAVES. That life was actually worse under the Egyptians than it was leaving them. But that didn’t matter. They knew what to do. It was familiar. It had become routine do whatever tasks they were ordered to do. Now, as they journeyed, everything constantly change. They barely had time to adapt. The future seemed uncertain and they had no idea what it held in store. It’s easier to rely on the things you already know than to walk out in faith and trust that things will get better. (Also known as “better the devil you know than the one you don’t.”)

Like I said, my old home wasn’t perfect. And it had its shortcomings. Mainly that it was small and wasn’t good for 4 people. But I keep forgetting that. We’re in a new roomy home and all I long for is my—if I’m honest—cramped apartment. It used to fit me. It used to fit just me and my husband when we were a couple without kids. But now we’ve grown. And outgrown that home. It was a road closing off that I didn’t even realize because when you’re comfortable, you don’t think about ever changing. But when life changes, you are forced to as well.

“The past is so tangible
I know it by heart
Familiar things are never easy to discard
I was dying for some freedom
But now I hesitate to go
I am caught between the promise
And the things I know”

—Sara Groves, “Painting Pictures of Egypt”

“The past is so tangible. I know it by heart. Familiar things are never easy to discard.” I knew that apartment inside and out. I can still navigate through the rooms and the hallways in my mind. I lived it and breathed it for so long. And now to just walk away? Make a clean break? Couldn’t we transition and go back and forth for a while and keep it?

“I was dying for some freedom but now I hesitate to go.” I knew we needed to move. I even got to a point where I said that I couldn’t wait to move because I felt claustrophobic with stuff and toys everywhere. But then when it came time to leave and never return, I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to leave forever.

“I am caught between the promise and the things I know.” God promises something better for me. And I don’t mean Joel Osteen-ish nonsense about wealth and fortune. But he promises better growth. Stretching. Moving forward. Things were changing for the Israelites but what they were promised was far better than being slaves to the Egyptians. While God didn’t promise me a nice home, he has promised that he will take care of me. Whether that’s materially or spiritually—doesn’t really matter. But I’m caught between what God says he’ll provide and the familiar thing that I want.

I’ll adapt. Change is hard. It never comes easy. But I’m just allowing myself this time to grieve after moving. It’s a loss. But even after someone passes, you have to move on with life. I will move on after this loss, too.

You read an old, related post here: Painting Pictures of Egypt.