This past weekend, I hosted an open mic/art show at the homestead.  It was an evening the had me enthralled and I didn't want it to end.  A poet, a sculptor, a singer and a spoken word performer, amongst a few more writers and creative geniuses, graced us with their offerings.  It was such a sacred time that ushered summer in with profound, but gentle truth.  I am almost at the end of making a big transition that I announced last week. Thank you to everyone for your support and encouragement in this season.  It has meant so much to me and my husband. 

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I get married in twenty-one days. Somehow that sounds shorter than three weeks. And somehow I feel exceptionally ready, while exceptionally naïve to what ready really means.

This morning woke to a prayer time that sought “Home.” What is it? Where is it? Where I am in it? And most importantly, I suppose, Whose am I in the midst of Home?

This is far from the first time such a search has sought my attentions. Often its been quite practically speaking, like when I moved away to college, or overseas, or across the country, or back across the across the country. While other times the search has been more abstract, like this morning. As sunlit beams danced around my bed, my solo existence, and God, sat still.

This has been my home, Father, but in twenty-one days, it will be no longer. The views will change. Different windows, different sounds, different smells… My single existence here will be no more.

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It’s been a while, hasn’t it?  I didn’t mean to take a hiatus from blogging. It sort of just...happened. Kind of like how becoming the foursquare mayor of your local McDonald’s and Chipotle just…happens. You don’t set out to become the mayor but a conflux of proximity, deliciousness, and competitiveness converge and suddenly you find yourself making a point to eat there simply so you can “win”. (If you have no idea what I’m talking about, go visit www.foursquare.com. You’ll either instantly get it or instantly hate it. You can probably guess which side of the spectrum I’m on.)

Anyway, my hiatus evolved as I began wrapping up some projects I’ve been involved with over the last couple years - the most important of which was my Master’s Degree.

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Have you ever noticed that you can measure life stages in the way that you move?  Usually, it looks something like this:

Stage 1:  Borrow a pick-up truck, bribe your friends with beer and pizza, and toss your belongings half-hazardly in a an eclectic mix of boxes (or directly in the truck)

 

Stage 2:  Pay for a moving truck, bribe your friends with beer and pizza, and toss your belongings into pre-purchased moving boxes a few days before the move

 

Stage 3:  Pay for movers to pack up your house and move your stuff for you.  Tip them with pizza and beer.  Notice you suddenly have more friends in your life.

 

Like most 20-somethings, I have yet to progress to moving stage 3.  But I have had my fair share of moves - at last count, I’ve moved seven times in just as many years.  At least two of the moves were related to being newly married or newly divorced, but there is also some serious wanderlust mixed in, too.  

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