I have found myself boxing up things only to find them in a different room a few minutes later. At first, I would think "hmm...I thought I already packed this. Oh well." And then I'd re-pack it in the box. But, after the first 20-30 times it happened, I began to realize that I wasn't in the early stages of dementia, but it was my kids. So, I called in help. (That's my mom, by the way. She has made it her job these last 6 years to be a grandmother. It's actually what I aspire to do. No kidding. To be a mom to my kids. Work a while. But once I start having grandkids, I want to be available whenever and wherever. I so look forward to serving my kids in that way!).
I totally needed her help this week. She took my boys while I packed. My house is wall to wall of boxes. Literally:
I am not a clean freak, per se, but I definitely like my house in order and things put away. So, THIS is driving me nuts:
I've caught myself murmuring prayers as I box things up, mainly the breakable things: "please, Lord, protect our stuff." Then just 2 days ago, I said it again, and clear as the dawn the Lord just said right back to me: it's just stuff. And it kinda hit me about where we store up our treasures. Don't get me wrong, I sure hope our stuff makes it through all 6 moves it's going to make (literally, 6 moves. first on a truck, then into storage, then into another truck, then driven across country to another country, then unloaded and re-loaded onto another truck. Do you also have a headache?). So, you see, I do hope our stuff, every single thing, makes it without a scratch and in proper working order. But, if it doesn't...it's just stuff. And I am being reminded through this whole transition who my trust is in. My treasures had better be the eternal kind.
Meanwhile, please allow me to share with you how incredible our house looks. This is what it looks like right now. At this very moment. And we are moving out tomorrow. It's ok. Go ahead and laugh. Or cry. Because that's what I'm doing.
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