I feel like I'm in a Folgers commercial. The house has yet to stir, but the mother wakes up and stretches, getting a moment of peace to herself. That's totally me right now, except the lighting's not as good and my skin looks worse/normal than those chipper ladies on TV. My hair's askew, my breath is terrible, and there are no sunbeams piercing through the window putting a perfect glimmer on my coffee mug. But, there is peace. There is quiet. And that's just as miraculous as any of those other things around here.
And then I turn around. Whoa. This is definitely not a commercial set. Boxes, packing tape, bubble wrap, and a zillion other items that separate normal every day life from the sudden "moving squalor" that has taken over my home. "Where am I?" I wonder.
The beginning of the end is here. The first of the last of things has begun. And as we get minute-by-minute closer to our impending move across country to Nashville, Tennessee, everything about living here is getting more and more special and more and more unsettling. It's all just so very weird.
The art, books, CDs, and DVDs are packed. The tops of both our bedroom closets are packed. Even the covers on our light switches and plug-ins are removed. And suddenly I feel like I'm living in a Whoville home after the Grinch has come and stolen all but the last can of Who-Hash. He's left hooks and wires dangling uselessly, making me scratch my head as to what had belonged there before and why it ever mattered.
It's amazing what you can live without for weeks. As you can imagine, nothing makes you evaluate and re-evaluate your things more than having to remove them from their home and suddenly be stored away in a receptacle that will get them from point A to point B. I don't know how many times over the last several days I've said "We own this?" or "Where did this come from?" and then gently toss it into the growing Goodwill pile. It's relieving and bewildering and upsetting all at the same time.
Nothing about moving is pretty. And we're at that grand point of packing where its all going to get worse before it gets better. Everything is OUT, yet not quite sorted through or put away. And, certainly, the mega-question of them all is How in the world will all this fit in a 16-foot truck? That miracle has yet to be determined!
The final weeks are here. The packing has begun. And my heart is caught in the middle of the roller coaster that is dread and excitement, hope and fear, making this experience bittersweet at best. As I sip my coffee and soak in a moment of this crisp morning silence, I'm simply reminded to stop and stare at the squalor. I'm reminded to not back down now, not shy away from the messy confrontation of what is happening.
I don't want to miss anything - even the tearful good-bye hugs, or the embarrassing ugly-cry moments, or the chance to tell someone in person what they've meant to me. Sure, it might look like a nice neat little package on the outside, just like these boxes, but inside is a miscellaneous mess of emotions that some days I can't quite handle. That's okay too.
So, if you see me in the supermarket with mascara streaming down my face, or you catch me in the In-n-Out drive through stuffing my face with "just one more last In-n-Out burger!", or you get attack-hugged by me and don't know what to say...Just take it. Just let me. Just know you are witnessing the beautiful mess of a great big process in an honest life. Just know that each one of you who reads this, who prays for us, who loves us from near or far - you are all part of this. You matter to me, and I am packing you up in a neat little box in my heart and taking it with me wherever I go. It's weird and unsettling, just like life...and just like my crazy home right now.
Now, that I would like to see in a Folgers commercial. Someone hand me coffee and Kleenex!
When packing the truck, imagine you are playing a giant 3D version of Tetris. Oh, and make sure you know where the girls are at all times!
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