They wrapped and packed each and every one of the picture frames and candle holders whose placement I had toiled over in hopes of stretching our newlywed budget to make that apartment a home. My main aim being to strategically place them to cover the corners where the ancient wallpaper was peeling back.
After they took the last mattress and latched the truck door, we bleached and vacuumed and remembered what it was like to unpack the kitchen the day we walked off of the cruise ship. And what it was like to sit next to the glow of our perfectly short Christmas tree before work in the mornings. And as we [impressively] loaded the rest of our things into our two small cars, we talked about all that we've learned and how we've changed and that we couldn't believe that our time there ended so quickly. I loaded boxes of things too precious to let the movers take [like dried wedding bouquets and art work] and cried. Cried because of a sentimental attachment to our first home and because my brain began grasping the fact that we really are moving far away. And as I steered my way out of the Baton Rouge city limits, I did what any conditionally independent Southern girl would do. I called my mom. And cried some more.
Now we've begun our little journey to this brand new state with our first stop being the in-laws. I'm finding comfort in fresh tomato sandwiches and blueberry picking and old Louisiana roadside stores and grilled squash from the garden. And in the knowledge that this seemingly huge hurtle and change will soon be one of those times in life that is over in a flash because of the Lord's intricate plan and strong guiding hand. Just like everything else.