“Honey, we’re moving.” My mom said as she walked into my bedroom.
“We’re moving? Again? Momma, I don’t want to move again. I have friends here. I don’t want to leave.” I said as I tried not to cry. After all, I was only eight, and this would be my fourth time moving since I was born.
“I know, honey, but we have to move. Daddy got a new job in Missouri. And you’ll make new friends when we get there.” She said trying to comfort me.
“I don’t want to move. I don’t care if Daddy has a new job or if I’ll make new friends. I want to stay here with the friends I have now.” I retorted with tears in my eyes.
My mom then walked over to me and embraced me in a hug, trying her best to calm me down and comfort me once more.
“I know, but we have to move. God wants us to.” She said calmly. She knew I couldn’t say no to what God wanted. And I have to admit, this was one of those times God would want us to move.
“Ok. If we have to.” I said sadly.
With that, my mom smiled and walked out the door.