It’s getting move-y around here. Piles are rising on every available surface. You know the look, when bags seem to be everywhere. This bag with outgoings and outgrowings for the charity shop and that one waiting to be returned to a friend with the little Trousers That We Borrowed On The Day It Happened. The children have been telling everyone from the postman to Curious George that soon we’re going to “Merica”. Suddenly there seems to be a great deal to do, a great many people to see, and a great many feelings that I’d rather not be feeling.
Don’t be sorry for me, it’s not really that complicated of a move. We only own one thing that could be labeled furniture and we’ve pared down the rest of it pretty well over many moves. We’ve been eating up the pantry and the mini-fridge. I don’t like to begin any of the preparations that will be disruptive to the children’s environment until the end so as to minimize the amount of time we are in transition. Thus I’ve had the twiddling-my-thumbs feeling for most of the summer. I’ve been surreptitiously going through drawers and eating Altoids for months. (Don’t understand why Altoids are key preparation? Guesses accepted in the comments.) In regard to the Move there are only two things with which we’ve been occupied until this week: waiting and more waiting.
Now we’ve begun: we fly from London in ten days. And, as expected, now that the time is actually approaching the months seem to have evaporated overnight. In sixteen days it will be the anniversary of our arrival in Oxford. I remember that day and I remember when we’d been here six months and it felt like a long time. Has it only been three years? It seems like so much longer, like a much bigger chunk of our family’s unfolding history. It must be because we arrived as new parents of one little toddly girl (and a Goat) and we leave as a family of five. Or perhaps it is because we came as students and we leave as . . . well, non-students.
We stand so near the finish of this season. Next time I check we’ll be gone. Even in the flurry I don’t want to forget to look back, to see the many, many ways God has cared for us in both the good times and the not-so-good times. He is so very good and faithful. None of us could put ourselves in better hands.