Quite differently this time, they seem so small. Sitting there busting at the seams with clothing and pictures and a few special trinkets I have hauled halfway across the world. It sinks in that this is what's left to my name. I stare at them. I think about the fact that one month ago I had 4 times this much stuff, a room of my own, and a car. Every time I went to Target, I'd run into people I know. Every day at work, I knew the names of hundreds of people I made drinks for. And on a Sunday morning I could walk into any room at church and find "family."
Everything is so different. Constantly transitioning. I haven't even unpacked my suitcase in the last month. I moved to Texas and then went to New York for 5 days and then came back to a project that involved moving locations across town. (I finally get one wall of a bedroom tomorrow.) Today I sat at church and didn't know a soul. And I didn't recognize any faces at the store. I had some moments of almost panic, just wanting to lay eyes on someone who knows me. Who I have history with. Longing for the hug or shared glance that ends up being an entire conversation.
As I was struggling today with wanting something familiar, I realized I did have it. It may not be a hug or the words of my friends that I am missing, but there WAS something I know right in front of me today. The Word of my King was taught. I sang songs I've known my entire life-the depth of "here I raise my ebineezer" just as powerful here as anywhere else. And there was something else this evening that I found comfort in. One other thing that has been old and familiar to me during the last 30 days. It's those danged polka dot suitcases. Oh, hey, old friends. Thanks for strangely being with me in yet another new place. Thanks for being consistent.