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Chris Fabry
Married to Andrea since 1982. We have 9 children together and none apart. Our dog's name is Tebow.
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Where We Are Now

After finding and remediating mold twice in our Colorado home, we abandoned ship in October 2008. Because of the high levels of exposure, our entire family was affected. After months of seeing different specialists for all of the problems, we came to Arizona to begin comprehensive treatment to rid our bodies of the toxic buildup. In August 2009 we moved into a larger home, four bedrooms, south of Tucson, north of Mexico. I am doing my daily radio program/ writing from that location. Thanks for praying for us. We really feel it.

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Sunday, August 16, 2009
I don’t know of any experience more exhausting or rewarding than moving from one place to another. I don’t envy people in the military who move every year or two. This is not how God made us, but this is where He has us, moving from one camp to another. So we’ll praise Him for the direction and the comfort He gives.

I’ve dreaded this move for months. I arrived back in February with eight new mattresses and box springs. I lugged every one of those inside a nice home in Tucson. There was a pool in the backyard. The kids swam in it on Saturday. Then they began reacting to the house. On Monday we moved out because chemicals had been sprayed inside. We didn’t know we were chemically sensitive back then, but the stinging eyes and the blotchy skin left us no alternative but to leave. And we left the new mattresses. We slept in hotels and searched for a new home for weeks. Finally, we found a 3 bedroom house with all tile. It was still scary, but we had a home.

I knew then that we would need to move in six months. As the family adjusted and we crammed eight of us into one bedroom, Andrea began thinking of the next house. We had hopes of turning around physically and heading back to Colorado. It became clear the desert is our home now. I had no idea how hard, scary, or rewarding this move would be.

Even though we don’t have that much stuff, we still have stuff. It doesn’t take a U-Haul to move air mattresses. But when you add the baskets of clothes and the camping chairs and three small TVs and stools and a card table—it’s depressing to write this, to put down the true state of our existence, but I learned long ago that the truth sets you free—and a box that holds everything Colin owns and insulin supplies and dishes…we needed a truck for all of that.

I rented a U-Haul and began the task of loading up the desk and filing cabinet we’d been given for my office, Andrea’s small desk, my office chair, and then the big deal, the washer and dryer. Our neighbors back in Colorado pitched in and bought us a brand new washer and dryer. If there’s anything that scares the mechanically challenged, it's hooking up a washer and dryer. But we got it in the truck, hauled it to the new place, and I managed to put the hoses on without much problem.

We slept in the new house Thursday night. Most of our stuff was in by Friday night. It is Sunday morning and the sun is coming up over the cactus. The coyotes are running through the wash with fresh kill. We have had no nosebleeds so far, a true miracle. Megan and her friend, Beth, were here to air the house out and they cleaned and cleaned and cleaned some more. That’s a big reason we haven’t reacted. I’m sitting in my new “studio,” a rather large closet at the eastern-most point of the house, a lot more secluded than the previous studio.

And last night, after I cooked onion-filled burgers on our electric grill, the kids got on their scooters, Ryan pulled out his skateboard, and we walked the neighborhood. Everyone was gone or doing something inside, or maybe it was too scary to come out to meet the tribe. I waved to one jogger who wore a Texas Longhorn shirt. The Ohio State hat must have been the reason he continued and just waved.

A walk around a neighborhood is foreign to our lives. We have been so consumed with the next step, the next treatment, trying to get better, trying to get the toxins out, switching electric and water companies, searching for answers…a walk in the neighborhood at sunset is what normal people do. And we have felt anything but normal.

It feels like we have turned a corner. God has given us a desert place to rest and recuperate and rejuvenate. He has given us laughter and tears, joy and sorrow, and baseball.

I almost forgot. In the midst of the move, Colin and Brandon’s final game was Saturday. I wish you could have been there. We won one game all year. One measly game. One wonderful game. The most players we ever had was six, while other teams were filled to overflowing. The boys progressed in their fielding and understanding of the game. We got some hits, played through the injuries, and survived the sweltering heat. And I survived as a coach, along with some great help from my friend, Jaime, and in the end it was all about the kids.

Tomorrow, one of our daughters is actually going into the local high school to her drama class. She has one class in the school. The kids will be taught at home the rest of the time by tutors provided by the local district. We don’t know what will happen with the house in Colorado. We don’t know how long this will take. We don’t know how much we’ll be affected by the toxins or if something will turn up in this house and we’ll have to move again. But we do know that today we have a place to sleep. A safe place with running water and three full bathrooms. And beautiful sunsets. And mountains. And wildlife. And rest from moving.

Thanks for journeying with us.


Anonymous said...

I couldn't be happier for all of you if it was one of my own family members, we'll all keep praying that this is the home for you as long as you need it.
Barbara Fenn
Medina OH

Donnamo said...

So glad to hear you are moved in and no reactions so far.

My 37 year old daughter read June Bug and loved it too. Now I'm passing it to others before putting in the library.

I hope you are working on another novel! See ya' on Chris Fabry Live today. :)

Anonymous said...

Beautiful sunset!