It's a strange feeling, packing up our first year of marriage - my first year and a half of adulthood. We're surrounded by towers of boxes, all in different stages: flat and unformed, formed but not filled, filled but not taped. Our 877 square foot apartment is a chaotic maze of cardboard, full of dead ends.
I've never moved before - not really. Not to the degree that I've needed a moving truck and cardboard boxes. I was born and raised in the same farmhouse, and other than moving college stuff (clothes, books, plastic tubs) back and forth each May, moving a home is foreign to me.
So far, I don't ever want to do it again. Neither does Charlie.
He's rather concerned we're going to leave him behind.
If there is one thing I can't stand about this stage of life we're in, it's the lack of ROOTS. I just want to settle in. I want to buy a stamp with our address. I want to order checks in bulk, knowing the address won't change before they've all been used (yes, we write checks). I want to paint walls without dreading repainting them white in a year or so. And while we're on the subject, I want to paint our front door a chic shade of yellow. Or red. Or green, or blue. I want, I want, I want. Good grief.
And the Lord says, "Set your mind on things above, not on earthly things." [Colossians 3:2]
We feel like figurines in a shaken snow globe, waiting for everything to settle so we can see clearly. Meanwhile, struggling to fully trust the Lord, hobbling along on our own understanding (which is so insufficient).
"But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.'" [2 Corinthians 12:9]
And weak we are.