Limbo

Boxes have replaced dressers and nightstands.  Mattresses sit on the floor.  Old toys en route to new homes whisper memories of little boys.  A rainbow of threads is scattered under the kitchen table where my friend and I spent three days making not just curtains but memories.

We’ve said our goodbyes and yet we are still here tying up the loose ends.  It makes for a strange state of mind.  Today, I sat on the floor folding my laundry as if it was an ordinary day.  A day where I would wake up in my bed, a bed that is no more.  A day where I would sit at my desk, a desk who days are coming to an end.  A day where I would school the boys on the couch, a couch who has moved on.  A day where I would drive the streets I know, the streets that I will miss.

For a moment, I wanted it to be any ordinary day.  There is so much beauty in the ordinary when we see with our hearts. I desperately wanted the boxes and bags to disappear.  I wanted to slip seamlessly back into my routine.  I wanted to know, as much as is possible, what tomorrow would bring.

I held onto the laundry on my lap as if it were an anchor.

Peel enough layers and there is fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear that paralyzes and moves me.  Fear that smothers and ignites me.  Ignites trust.  Trust in a God who loves.

Meow Cow has taken to napping in his travel bag.  It seems he is trying to tell us something.

We said our goodbyes.

Yet we are still here.

But not really.

Love and Laughter,
Jenn