Obedience doesn’t always feel like courage. Sometimes, it feels like letting go with nothing to grab onto.

Since 2009, our family has said yes to four major moves:

• From Pennsylvania to Colorado

• Colorado to New Hampshire

• New Hampshire to Nebraska

• Nebraska to South Carolina

Each time, it wasn’t about chasing more.
It was about trusting Him.

But here’s the part I didn’t expect:
Saying yes to Jesus doesn’t get easier just because you’ve done it before.
In fact, sometimes the weight feels heavier—because now you know what it costs.

The Hidden Cost of Moving

Moving is consistently ranked among the most stressful events a person can face. But when it happens over and over again, even for good reasons, the impact multiplies.

• A 2016 study in Social Indicators Research found that frequent relocations—especially during formative years—are linked to higher levels of anxiety, depression, and social instability.

• Research from the Journal of Environmental Psychology shows that even voluntary moves often result in emotional fatigue, identity disruption, and lingering grief.

• And the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology reminds us that moving away from close relationships can significantly lower life satisfaction.

And that’s just the research.

Here’s the lived reality:

Each move chips away at what once felt stable.
You leave behind friends, rhythms, doctors, counselors, memories.
You feel like a stranger again—at church, in the grocery store, in your own skin.
And sometimes, after all that disruption, you wonder if you misheard the call altogether.

Obedience sounds noble.
But obedience without a guaranteed outcome?
That demands trust.

“Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”
— Hebrews 11:1

That’s what we’ve had to hold onto—faith in what we cannot yet see.
Faith that God wastes nothing.
Faith that Mark 10 is still true, even when it doesn’t feel like it.

“Truly I tell you,” Jesus said, “no one who has left home or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields for me and the gospel will fail to receive a hundred times as much in this present age… along with persecutions—and in the age to come, eternal life.”
— Mark 10:29–30

The math of the Kingdom doesn’t make sense on this side of heaven.

There’s no way to fully count the cost of following Jesus.
But God… He does.
And He multiplies what the world says you’ve lost.

What we’ve gained on this journey has been immeasurable.
Not just new locations—but sacred friendships.
They’ve become the living proof that God weaves more into our story than we could imagine.
They’ve shared our lives, held our stories, and become part of the fabric of who we are.

Which is what makes this latest move even harder.

This time, our kids are staying behind in Nebraska—beginning their own journeys.
And it’s not just the leaving that hurts—it’s the tearing. The ripping apart of shared life.
The laughter around dinner tables. The ordinary days that quietly became precious.
It’s a pain that words don’t quite hold.

And here’s something else we’ve learned:
Moves tend to bring out both the worst and the best in each other.

In the upheaval, you see the stress, the frayed edges, the unspoken fears.
But you also see the resilience.
The grace to forgive in real-time.
The stubborn commitment to keep showing up, even when your souls feel threadbare.

Transitions test relationships—but they can also refine them.
We’ve stumbled. We’ve snapped. We’ve asked, “Is this worth it?” more times than we’d like to admit.
But somehow, on the other side of the tension, we’ve discovered a deeper tenderness—
Not despite the strain, but because of it.

But even here, we trust.

We trust that Jesus will birth new things in this season.
That He can take the toil and trauma—and allow something beautiful to grow from it.
Not just for us, but for the ones who have walked alongside us.
Because obedience isn’t just about sacrifice. It’s about multiplication.

Each time we moved, we rebuilt from the ground up.
Each time, we doubted.
Each time, we questioned whether our yes still mattered.

But each time, in the weariness and in the wonder, we found Him faithful.
Not always fast.
Not always obvious.
But faithful.

He gave us new people to love.
New places to belong.
And a deeper understanding that home was never a zip code—it was His presence.

So if you’re in a season of uprooting…
If you’re carrying the hidden weight of transition…
If your obedience feels more like weakness than boldness…

You’re not failing.
You’re walking by faith.

He sees what it’s costing you.
And He’s already at work multiplying what you cannot yet see.

Jesus doesn’t just walk with us in obedience.
He is the reward of obedience.