We’re moving again. We all saw it coming, and for reasons beyond our control, it’s just what has to be done. Granted, this is a much smaller scale deal than our last one. Even so, it means saying some tough goodbyes. And, if you know my feelings on packing, you know that this is never a happy time for me. We’ve known about this move for the last several weeks, and I knew that we were on the brink of change. But, up until last night, everything around me looked and felt the same. I told my friend Jenny a few weeks back that I felt like I had a flood of tears dammed up by the fact that nothing had yet changed.
Yesterday, the change started. We began packing, and we broke the news to some of our employees and friends. I held it all together until I was cooking supper. My sweet neighbor had just left, and I had a teary conversation with her about how much I was dreading this move, primarily because the distance would keep us from having our frequent tea dates and watching our kids play together. I cut up the onions, and the tears began to trickle. That’s not so weird, right? But when I started cooking, the sobs poured out. I couldn’t deny the inevitable anymore, and the boxes in the corner were tangible proof of yet another unwanted move. The onions kicked a hole in my dam of denial.
Maybe I’ve just been too busy to deal with reality. Yeah, that sounds better. Either way, I’ve taken a few minutes to feel sorry for myself, and now I need to get on with life. There’s a country full of people around me who need help, and I came here to do something about it. And, if I made Levi do all of the packing again, he might pack me into a box, too.
So yes, we are moving again. But hey, we’re prepared. It helps when you haven’t actually finished unpacking from your last move. I used to think that Levi had a freaky box hoarding problem. Turns out, he was just planning ahead. Love that guy…