My husband said that our last move back home to Georgia would be the hardest. It was surely that. A couple of weeks ago, we were finally able to close on our new home. It was the culmination of all many months of hard work and planning. We both breathed a big sigh of relief when we had keys in hand.
And then we got to work.
It took a full week to move all of our belongings in. I’m not entirely sure when we moved away from being the young people who traveled light ( only books and a dog) to the people who have too much stuff. So much stuff that it is back-breaking work to move it. Boxes and boxes of things. Things that sit on a shelf or hang in a closet. Things that do nothing for to enrich our lives or the lives of others. That’s what I find myself thinking about now. How much of my life’s work I’ve spent on those things instead of using the provision that the Lord has graced us with to help others. It hurts my heart.
But times they are a’changin’. I am in the process of stripping my life back down again. Item by item. Room by room. I want to see if I can catch a glimpse of that young woman who thought nothing of tossing her life’s possessions in a dumpster before entering the Army. “It’s just stuff” I remember telling my mom. Exactly. Exactly.
And after doing that? I have never felt more free. I lived for a couple of years on a beautiful island in the pacific and I owned very little. I had a rather large box of books, a grumpy cat, and a refrigerator full of baloney, cause, you know, a woman’s gotta do what a woman’s gotta do. It was expensive to live there, but if I had never returned I would have never met my husband. I can’t imagine a life without him in it.
So I’m sorting now. And tossing. I am committed to getting back to that girl that knew that the best parts of life don’t fit into a box. It’s going to take some time to dig her out I’m sure, but she’s still in there. I have no doubt about that.