This photo represents more than this many boxes already unpacked and in the recycle bin as well as almost this many left to unpack!
The boxes in the photo have already been unpacked and are awaiting their breakdown into the garage.
Why am I showing you this picture?
Because this is Holy Week.
Clear as mud? Let me try to briefly explain.
We have just gone through three months of ups and downs, twists and turns and a couple of loop-de-loops in selling our home to buy a new one. The roller coaster of emotions and events could almost seem funny, had they happened in a situation comedy t.v. show. But this felt like Mr. Toad's Wild Ride and I wanted to get off! As soon as one twisty-turn straightened out to give a few days' relief and rest, the faux peaceful run sped up into another tight turn of unfortunate events that came out from nowhere. Nothing that was down-right horrible (if you line this up next to a cancer diagnosis or or a death in the family kind of horrible).
And with each new twisty-turn I lost my religion, so to speak. I gave way to my primal scream and pitched a fit. An ugly fit. Not pretty at all. It was hard for me to fix my eyes on Jesus when all I wanted to do was let the world know how unfair it was at that moment.
I am so ashamed to admit that I thought this would be a piece of cake. That our home would sell within the first 30 days on the market. That our new home would be built with craftsmanship integrity (you know, all the bricks would have mortar between them, or the shower stall glass door would meet in the corner). That God would smile down on us and bless us with a no-pain, no-bumps timeline.
Which leads me to the boxes.
I am now in our new home. The one that I really wanted. No stairs or steps. A peaceful backyard. A bigger kitchen and living and dining area. And as I unpack each box and decide where to put things, I feel blessed -- God's blessing. Well, maybe not the first morning when we woke up to a leaking dining room ceiling, dripping down the chandelier onto an antique clock. But I did hold it together better that morning.
Last night I took a break to go through an interactive stations of the cross at our church, remembering what Good Friday really means. Horrible, terrible things happened to Jesus--all for my sake. His love for me cost him his life -- a torturous death all for the sake of...
me.
The me that falls apart just because life isn't happening the way I think it should.
I was falling apart while I was packing some of these boxes. Other days I was feeling hopeful and excited about the impending move while I packed the boxes. He loves me either way.
"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead." (1 Peter 1:3)