It's a funny thing; moving. Moving out, moving in, moving to and from different cities and "homes." I always thought the learning experiences that came from moving would come after the dust of the actually "move" was settled. However, I'm quickly learning that there is just as much potential to learn from the actual process itself.
A few days ago, I decided it was time to start packing the "small things." The "decorations." The things I knew I really wouldn't need around for the last few days. As I began pulling pictures off the walls, off the counters, off of my desk, and arranging them into a box, I found myself marveling at them all over again. Some of them had been hanging on the wall, next to my head where I've slept for the last 9 months and I hardly ever noticed them. I found myself carefully wrapping picture frames and strategically placing them between cardboard walls, as if they were my most precious possessions. As if they hadn't sat, collecting dust, for my entire freshman year.
I started to wonder why I even brought them here. Why I took the time to pack them up and drive them hundreds of miles just to sit idley, taking up space, creating obstacles I had to weave around while walking through my 10x10 dorm room. I guess some of it was for decor. To add some color to these bare white walls. But I'm beginning to think that most of it was simply an attempt to feel comfortable. A shot in the dark at making this, at the time, new and scary place feel more like home. But now as I sit on my still not-broken-down futon (there are some things we simply need men for, i'm admitting), in between two bare walls, staring at piles of boxes of these "trinkets" I thought I would need, I'm realizing I'm not feeling any less at home than I did before. I am not any less or any more comfortable, knowing that all these "priceless" memories are folded and tucked away in a box that reads "multipurpose paper, 50% recycled." My life does not lie within those mounds of cardboard. It would not end if one of my vintage owl figurines cracked on the way back to Anderson.
My goal is not to come across as an anti-trinket, anti-photo, anti-possession woman. My goal is simply to express the deepest joy I've found this year, in all of life for that matter, in the best way I know how. Joy lies within a knowledge and understanding of the character of God. The most precious gift we can ever receive is an intimacy with our Creator. It is unmatchable. It is unfailing. It cannot be wrapped in un-used drawing paper, masking taped, and placed within the confinements of cardboard.
Christ is comfort. Christ is home. And best of all, more of Christ is freeing. Seeking a better understanding of the Character of God, of Grace, allows us to see how ultimately satisfying He is above anything that's buying for my attention in this world. As children of God, we were freed by the finished work of the cross of Christ. Not for the possession of our trinkets, or for the stacking of our recycled paper boxes, but for the Glory God is given when we realize we weren't made for this side of Eternity. When we begin to seek above things. When we begin to create space in our hearts for more of Him to reign. When we see that, despite the changing of location, we aren't being sanctified so that we may feel more at home in our earthly realms, but rather, less.
The Christian life is not about the colorful snapshots we catch and paste to our white walls. In fact, every picture, every splash of color, every montage we've displayed for the world as "us," must come down eventually. And as I've seen over the past few days, sometimes removing theses false "comforts" leaves more damage than it's worth.
killer and so true
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