“Aren’t we lucky,” I said to the boys from the car’s front seat as they sat in the back, “that we have friends here who are like family, and who know how to take care of you?”

I was sincere, and also trying to make a sale. The Husband and I were headed to a high school tour in the city, which required a change to our daily routine: I would not be taking the boys to school. Instead, we were dropping them with friends who would walk them there.

There were a lot of questions when this information was initially dropped: would their friends’ mum take them to their classes and wait there until the bell went like I do? Did she know that The Kid required a kiss on the lips before Little Brother was escorted across the grounds to his room? There were tears and shouts of denial. I didn’t sleep well the night before. I thought about–and TK suggested–backing out of the tour, sending TH on his own.

This was all yesterday, and we survived.

As TH and I fought traffic while crossing the Harbour Bridge, I thought for the millionth time about how insane this all is: the fact that we are thousands of miles from family; that we have overstayed our three-year assignment by a year and a half; that we are set to take our citizenship test next week; that we have friends I trust enough to walk my kids down the busiest of roads; that my kids trust these people too; that we are looking at high schools for TK to attend in two and a half years, and LB three years after that.

When I prayed for us to find our people here, I had no idea who would show up, or how. Now, we are embedded in deep community with people who feel like family. People who, when I ask them for help with my kids or if they want to go on holiday with us, say things like “leave it with me”–one of my favourite expressions, since I’m someone who tends to carry my baggage possessively and with more than a whiff of martyrdom even as my soul longs for relief.

There is relief. There is leaving it with those who have been faithful. With the grace that has held us and does still.

I don’t want to think about changes, about starting a new school and meeting new people and navigating more transitions. But even as I spurn the idea through anxiety, I have to laugh, because…look at how ridiculously grace-ridden our path has been so far. Like that’s going to suddenly change?

Our tour ended in a chapel with two students singing it alongside a pianist: Amazing Grace.

We were running Kevin the Dog down at the harbour the other day and I noticed LB positioning himself on a rock off to the side and gazing ahead through squinted eyes.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He turned to me, grinning. “I’m watching our life movie,” he said. “It’s really good.”