SOLD

We came home from a whirlwind, denial-inducing, family-soaking, and RV-buying trip to Texas to a bright gold sign with bold blue letters saying "Sold" in our yard. We met it with mixed emotions. Thankfulness at having found a buyer in a sluggish market, absolute relief at having passed inspections with flying colors and a marked sadness in our hearts at the finality of it. SOLD.

As I walked in the door to put things away I was almost annoyed at the absurdity of putting anything away knowing that in mere days the boxes would begin stacking up in our various rooms with all our worldly goods tucked in them to store for an indefinite amount of time. I walked through the rooms and looked with eyes that acknowledged that this was not my home anymore. It was someone elses. My new home was parked in a sales lot in Dallas getting cleaned up and prepped for pick up the following weekend. Then a thought crossed my mind that was completely riduculous---I wanted to drop down to the floor and spread open my arms and legs as far as they would go and do "Carpet Angels"...I know. Ridiculous---yet I already feel spacially challenged even thinking about climbing in that RV and want to feel the space around me as much as I can. So in the next few weeks don't be surpised if you see me do odd things like that. I might stretch out, stroke a wall and walk around aimlessly in my 2100 square foot house just because I can...and we might be in the middle of a conversation. I'm just warning you.

So as I was thinking that ridiculous thought and sorting the mountains of laundry I was about to start in my giant, brand-new-- but now forfeited to the new owners of my home-- washer and dryer, (boo hoo!) Jordan walked in and said, "I'm so sorry". This took me by surprise (even more so than the idea of my doing Carpet Angels). He went on to further explain how much he was sorry for our lifestyle, the leave-taking and the sacrifices I have to make as his wife. I must admit, I wanted to say, "You should be." But I had already reminded him earlier that morning that he was absolutely lucky to have me and didn't feel that my journey to being a godly, dignified woman would benefit from another ugly statement. I was reminded that I instead need to choose to see joy even in the midst of saying goodbye to a house, space, and brand new washing machines. So I said to my much-loved husband, "It's okay--in fact, it's good that we have to go through this." Now, I'm not necessarily prone to "Pollyanna" platitudes. I like sunshine as much as the next person, but try not to blow it up places where it doesn't belong. (is that a dignified statement?) But this wasn't said without conviction. I believe that it is good.

How can I say that? The pain is excruciating as I prepare to leave friends and prepare to give up comfort to honor my husband so it's not because this is without pain. But it's good because shallow roots on this earth leaving me longing for heaven. Temporary homes leave me longing for the eternally permanent. And knowing that time is short with those I love let me more fully enjoy their company while I can and rely on the hope of reuniting with them in heaven one day. So I can choose Joy even in the sorrow. Furthermore, and most importantly---I don't just long for heaven but the Heavenly Father as his grace is absolutely sufficient for me. Sufficient in grief, sufficient in loss and sufficient in the stress of upheaval. He is more than enough to bring me comfort and peace and my heart is learning to treasure Him above all worldly comforts and items that can be stored away in boxes. It is a good God who will strip us of our earthly treasures that rust and decay and comforts that make us soft and stagnant and instead replaces them with Himself. And there is deep and abiding Joy in Him. He is sufficient and He is good. So good.