By Barb Bergman

In 2008, our family made a big move—from Memphis, Tennessee to Hermiston, Oregon. It was early July, and my husband, Scott (a CRNA—nurse anesthetist), had just accepted a job at a small rural hospital. We’d been feeling ready to leave Tennessee and find somewhere in the West to settle. Our second child had just graduated a year early from high school, which opened the door to make that move happen. When the opportunity in Oregon came up, it felt practically handed to us.

Looking back, I can see that we fulfilled what we were meant to do in that chapter, and even a bit more. But the truth is, we were also ready—on many levels—for something better.

Our younger kids, Ryan (going into 8th grade) and Erica (heading into 4th), were excited about the adventure. The hospital put us up temporarily in a small rental home they owned while we looked for something more permanent.

But once I got settled into the town—attending church, chatting with other moms, driving around—I started to feel a heaviness I didn’t expect. I had been so sure this move was right. But instead of peace, I felt a cloud of darkness. Something was off. Even at church, I didn’t feel like this was where we were supposed to be.

We started house hunting, but that only added to the discouragement. Inventory was low, prices were high, and the housing market crash hadn’t caught up with Oregon yet. We’d already taken a $10,000 loss selling our home in Tennessee—grateful it wasn’t more—and were hoping to at least gain something on the buying end. No such luck.

Eventually, we put in an offer on a house that had belonged to a previous CRNA. It was overpriced and stretched our budget, but we were hopeful they’d negotiate. That night, though, I didn’t sleep a wink. My whole body was screaming, this is not the house. Thankfully, they barely countered our offer (dropping the price by $500), so we were off the hook. But the unsettled feeling didn’t go away, and I was wrestling between my gut and my determination to stay optimistic—we had both felt confirmation that Scott was supposed to take this job.

That’s when I remembered a conversation I had just before we moved. A woman at church in Memphis mentioned her daughter lived near Hermiston—in Kennewick, Washington, just 25 minutes away—and gave me her number in case I ever needed anything.

I dug out the number and gave her a call.

We had a long, eye-opening conversation. She told me about the differences in school systems—Washington’s were much stronger. She also mentioned that Hermiston was ranked second in the nation for meth problems, partly due to the drug trade moving through farms and orchards. Suddenly, things made more sense.

She added that Kennewick had far more housing options and connected me with a trusted local realtor. I felt hope spark in me again.

Scott couldn’t take off work, but he told me to go check it out with the kids. If I found something promising, he’d come up on a Saturday or after work. I took Ryan and Erica and toured several homes. Two of them were new builds—modest, affordable, and within our budget. I instantly felt peace. Light. Calm. As I researched the local schools, I found they were strong academically. Everything started to feel right again.

Now, some background: Scott had worked for years as a critical care nurse before going back to school to become a CRNA. That meant we were still carrying $150K in student loans, even with me working part-time, and had a second child heading to college. He’d only started his first job as a CRNA in 2006, so we were still in the early stages of financial catch-up mode and eventually getting ahead.

After much prayer and conversation, we decided to move forward with one of the new builds in Kennewick. It wasn’t finished yet, so we stayed in Hermiston a little longer while I commuted the kids to school. Scott made the sacrifice to stay at the hospital during his one-night-a-week and every-fourth-weekend on-call shifts, since our home would be just beyond the 15–20-minute radius required for call-ins. The hospital graciously provided a sleep room for those nights.

It wasn’t easy—Scott had been looking forward to a five-minute commute and being able to come home if not needed during his call shifts. But in the end, he made that sacrifice for nine and a half years, and we never stopped being grateful. Life wasn’t without its challenges, but we were so clearly in the right house, neighborhood, school district, and church congregation.

Even though I hadn’t yet studied the laws of thought at the time, I knew enough to trust that, even when everything felt wrong or heavy in Hermiston, God had a plan. I held onto that hope. And in time, I saw it unfold.

This is the Law of Rhythm. With the downs come the upswings. When we live in gratitude and trust God, we gain wisdom, growth, and the ability to recognize the beauty in the good times. Life ebbs and flows—but it flows forward for our good.

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