I'm packaging and folding my history into cardboard.
Its a quiet morning here on Paloma as I sip my coffee before another day gets underway. Today, like every other day this week, involves deciding where to live in harbor-city and what box to pack in orange-town? Yesterday, I planned to pack a lot but I ran out of materials, motivation, and tears.
What is it about this place that makes me cry? What do I think will change so much that putting away my beloved novels brings tears, dripping off my nose and obscuring my view?
Us. Our entire history is in this upstate: Our first date. Our first kiss. Our first argument. Our first apology. Our first home. Our first... everything.
And so, as I pack our history away, there is a mourning.
We have a gracious Father, who transcends time, space, and emotion. He restores our strength and whispers hope to our hearts. Our Father has brought this love into being and He will not abandon this work. He is faithful.
I cling to The Promises as I clean, organize, fold, wrap, tuck, and give away. I cling to something beyond me, beyond us, as I hug Clemson family goodbye and as I release dcf. I cling to The Truth that eternity is in my heart and that there is a great working there.
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