You should see my room right now.
The bookshelves are empty except for a few stragglers, the walls are stripped of pictures. My closet has gone from being overstuffed to just comfortably full. My bed (which at the best of times is nomadic in style to make room for bookshelves) has been reduced to a piece of foam on the floor with my sleeping bag.
In the middle of a floor is a pile of boxes whose labels provide interesting reading material. Most of them are liquor boxes, because they are (a) free and (b) strong--and no, I have not been imbibing. Ironically, the slogans on the liquor boxes make more sense to me than the slogan of one computer box, "Inspiring Innovation Persistent Perfection." Apparently computer programmers don't use punctuation. When my mind wanders from my work, I stare blankly at the sentence (if you can call it a sentence) and the words rearrange themselves into rather awkward sequences like "Perspiring Innovation Insistent Perfection." After all, didn't somebody famous say that genius is ninety-nine percent perspiration, and one percent inspiration?
And what, you ask, is the point of this new decorating style? Well, friends, I'm moving. Packing up my bags and heading to the state that eats more ice cream than any other state(good choice, don't you think?)!
All joking aside, I am, in fact moving, sometime in October. Fall seems like the season that most highlights change, and changes are happening here at the farmhouse. The Lord has made it clear, through many different means, that the time has come to transition the care of my grandparents to others, who are fresher for the job and ready to tackle the challenges with new ideas and enthusiasm. I'm so thankful to know that Grammy and Grampy will still be able to live in their home for the time being at least, and to enjoy this beautiful place.
It's very strange to go through daily life and realize how much there is to leave behind. When I first moved from home in Connecticut, I didn't know that I wouldn't be returning. But now, the fragrance of the fields, the beauty of the sunsets, the familiar sights on my commute, the special people I work with at my job and at home, and most especially my grandparents themselves, all become more dear because I know I'll be leaving them soon.
At the same time, I am quivering with excitement about the new opportunities and experiences that are in front of me. I can't wait to live with Dad and Mom again, in their new house, in a town full of people and places I've never encountered! It will be fun to share the lives of my childhood friends who live near my new home, to hold their babies and build forts with their kids. I'm looking forward to a season of rest with time to refocus and see what the Lord has for me next. Maybe I'll even be able to write blog posts regularly again!
There's just no way to describe what the past three years have meant in my life--the lessons and challenges, the frustrations and disappointments and defeats, together with the adventures and joys and personal triumphs. Each blade of grass in these fields where I've walked and talked with God, represents one of His mercies to me. Each of the brilliant stars stands for one of His precious and magnificent promises. I like to think of it that way. Because Maine is full of grass, too. And the same stars that shine here, shine there as well.