There she is.  The SOLD sign adorning our front lawn–a reminder that God is faithful in completing whatever plan he begins, even if it is a plan that seemingly doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.  A house is a house is a house, right?  It may seem trivial that we are packing up our belongings AGAIN and moving AGAIN, but who knows what the reason is.  Maybe we are supposed to invite our new neighbors to church.  Plant some seeds.  Maybe those seeds will be sown.  Maybe there is a plan bigger than just the oh goody, we are moving back to Webster.  

Packing isn’t for the faint of heart.  We have been spending our nights filling up boxes and stacking them in piles.  I find it odd that we have to box up all of our stuff just to move fifteen minutes over to the next town.  But what other choice is there?  Rooms start to echo when you take all the love out of them–handmade valances, images hanging on the walls in frames, shelves with decorations that reflect our style.  You are left with an empty shell–when words are spoken, they just bounce around the room not knowing where to stop because there is nowhere for them to land.   I noticed this today in my office.  Mostly everything is packed up except for my desk.  I answered Brayden after he asked me a question from the other room and I sat there for a couple minutes, strangely melancholy and feeling like the room was already lifeless and empty.  Lonely in it’s barrenness.  

But this evening, James moved the stacks of boxes that were piled in our dining room and put them into the office to get them out of the way.  It won’t echo anymore.  Not until December 3rd.  

There is still so much to do, and we’re pretty much out of boxes.  We’ve had to rely on friends and the liquor store to provide us with the few that we have.  I feel like I’m trying to do a lot this week because I know in the next few weeks I have many photo sessions coming, and will still need to take the time to do my photographer job.   

I was thankful for the warm weather.  Brayden had a chance to play with the boys on the street that he has grown to love.  I know that as the cold weather comes, we all tend to hibernate.  And while I pray that this isn’t the last time he gets to play with them, I know it’s the beginning of the end.  I am mostly sad that we will be moving away from the boys across the street. . . they are sweet and well behaved and the two older ones never mind playing with the younger kids.  A new little girl will live in our house–too young to play with the boys across the street, and definitely the wrong gender.  But maybe she will add a little flair to the wild crew already here.  

I keep wondering what on earth we are doing.  Whether we are even sane.  But then I remind myself that things happen for a reason, and if we weren’t meant to move, it wouldn’t be working out quite so easily.  

So for now, it’s one day at a time.  Work until exhaustion today and then wake up tomorrow with today’s work being water under the bridge.  Start all over again–step after step, hour after hour.  One moment at a time. 

That’s the only way to move forward.