August is coming. The visa process is in full swing. We've arranged to sell our entire house of furniture, toys, and kitchenware to one family. (How's that for simplifying things?!) I've combed through every cabinet in the house to remove the excess and tuck away what will fly off with us. All that's left are the bookshelves. I always have trouble with books. It's like giving away old friends.
When I'm old, if God ever allows me to settle into those rolling Tennessee hills, I'm going to have a small house that's nothing but bookshelves surrounded by trees.
For now, I'm allowing myself two suitcases -- eighty pounds of books.
Surely I can manage.
Even with an impending move on the horizon, if you knew how many books had been delivered to my house just this past month, you would laugh heartily. It's like an addiction. And don't talk to me about a kindle. I have one. We actually have a few. It's not the same.
This process has highlighted for me something that I always seem to re-discover about myself when a move is on my horizon.
I hate change.
I really hate it.
But I love it too.
There's something in me that does love a good adventure. I just can't outgrow a bit of restlessness and yet I can't overcome my propensity toward routine, order and familiarity either. I suspicion this will be a lifelong tension. Some things are like that.
It occurred to me that a few of you might be wondering where "onward' is for us. I'm still getting used to it myself. The surprise hasn't really worn off. If we had made a list of 20 countries we thought we might end up in, I doubt it would have made the list.
And yet, the more I think about it, the more excited I become.