We have been going nonstop lately. To the point where I am just now sitting down at my computer for the first time in two weeks. We moved out of our previous rental house into a new rental house a mile down the road. We still own a home in Alabama that we are currently trying to sell, so we are unable to buy another home here in Florida until it does. There are ups and downs to renting, it all depends on who you are renting from. Thankfully, God has really blessed us in the landlord department and we've been able to make each house feel like home.
All that said, sometimes I do get to feeling a bit like a nomad.
As I was going through boxes upon boxes for weeks straight, I realized I have loads and loads of memories stored in the most unexpected places. That box with all the half-used lotions and body sprays from my college days. Those folded up letters in a shoebox decorated for my boyfriend turned husband. And the ziplock bag holding the positive pregnancy tests that signify the beginning of my relationship with both Micah and Hannah. What seems like junk for most people and probably should be thrown away, is visible proof that I do have a home. Because no matter what the hallmark card says... home is where your junk is.
I have loads of junk. Both physically and, now to get a little more serious, spiritually. That junk that's hidden in the bottom of the drawers, back of the closet and stuffed away in boxes. The stuff that no one sees, unless they dig around a little bit. Stuff that I carry with me from home to home, relationship to relationship. I'm only forced to come to terms with my junk, when I'm forced to move. Because moving requires cleaning. And cleaning requires removing the junk from the hidden crevices and into the light. What I choose to do with my junk though, is still up to me.
I have a hard time letting go of sentimental things. Like the pregnancy test for example. I don't know why - it's just a stick I peed on - but you'd think I was holding my baby Micah embryo or something the way I talk to it (just kidding, I don't talk to it).
The truth is, we all get comfortable with our junk. So much so, it begins to feel like home. We almost don't know a life without it. One of the sayings I adapted while packing up our house this go-around was, "If I wasn't missing it, throw it away." That helped me weed out in my heart what was truly sentimental and what was just junk. Needless to say, I wasn't missing much.
We can do the same in our spiritual lives. I can tell you that I don't miss living in a constant state of worry. I don't miss being consumed with jealousy. What I do miss though, is spending time in the Word. I miss praying alone on my knees. I miss being able to sing and lift my hands in worship. I know we can't live on the mountain top - but I truly do miss it while in the valley.
Right now, I can tell you these days are hard. They are busy. They are long and too fast at the same time. I miss the simple days - but I would never wish for them again. Are you confused yet? I know I am.
What I'm trying to say, is there will always be junk. Before I had kids, my junk looked completely different than it does now. I've thrown away a lot, but I've also acquired some more. As our life stage continues to change and grow - so do we.
I wish I could say I was more open now about what my junk is, but I'm not. I still hide it - hoping no one will notice. And maybe they won't, if they're not the kind of friends to go snooping around in closets.
But if they are, then maybe I'll get some cleaning done.
