I have possessions on Brookewind Way, Trout Court, and Fiddler's Creek.
(Do you see the pattern?)
I've done this four times before. Sifted, sorted, downsized. I throw away what has accumulated and rediscover things I've forgotten. I box up my books, take down my pictures, fold up my clothes, and pull out my pots and pans.
I will have a new home soon. Moving, for me, signifies a new season in life. A fresh start, a clean slate, a new home is ready for me to make new memories in it. Life will happen in this new place, just like it did in every house or apartment I've lived in before.
Life happens no matter what.
I never really moved into this apartment. Nine months ago I packed up an apartment where lots of life and changed had occurred. I remember sitting in the empty Pimlico living room, surrounded by my boxes, crying.
I didn't know why I was supposed to come here. There are days when I still wonder. A transition home, maybe, because I wasn't ready to go where I was supposed to yet. Maybe I lived in this apartment, on this side of town, because it gave me a chance to carpool with two people who I now love more than anything. Or because back in August a worship night was held just a block away, and because it was so close, I walked over. And I stumbled on a beautiful community.
Tonight is my last night in this apartment.
Lots of bad things happened here. Sickness, deception, temptation, insecurity, fear, loneliness. God broke me here. But God also restored me here.
So I will leave this apartment a different person. Older. Stronger. I will turn the page, repent and forget. I will shed an old skin and go and sleep in a new room.
God is doing a new thing. Even as I move boxes in, I wonder if the next time I move... it will be to a whole new country?
I must be patient. I will wait on the Lord. He has been faithful for this long. Faithful in His promises never to leave, to make me new, to redeem. So, even more than living in a new home, I look forward to dwelling in His presence and walking in His will.
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