6.29.2006

all of my family's belongings fit into a 53-foot long space.

i know this because at midnight last night i watched a moving van of that size pull away from our house in virginia. with all of our stuff.

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mom and i sat on the porch and watched them finish packing the van. she held my hand, still comforting me from the mini-breakdown that i had after walking thru and feeling (not just seeing) the emptiness of each room. it's interesting how even without furniture there i could still picture the rooms just as they should be. last night was the first set of tears.

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this morning i woke up in our empty living room floor. mom, dad and i spent the night there last night instead of getting a hotel room. it certainly wasn't the best night's sleep i've gotten, but i wouldn't have wanted it any other way. it was the last night i had to be in that house.


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in some ways today has seemed somewhat normal. dad was awake first and busy doing things when mom and i got up. we sat around the breakfast table with carla and marisa (our neighbors of 13 years) talking about typical life stuff and listening to marisa play her recital peice on the piano. i sat out on the back deck for awhile with the cat. i swept the floor.

but doing a few "normal" things doesn't make the day itself normal. such was the case today.

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i am currently sitting in a hotel right across the kentucky state line. my family (including the cat) has spent all day packing up the last remains of our home in virginia and setting out for the west . . . golden, colorado to be exact.

i have decided i will use this lovely little internet creation that we call a blog to keep everyone updated on the events of our trip. as those of you know who read my blog, i rarely post daily events, but rather ideas, musings, mad squirrel disease thoughts. the next week and a half will be a mixture of the two. take it for what you will.

i leave you tonight with a verse that i thought of as we were driving thru the beautiful mountains of virginia and west virginia today:


You will go out in joy
and be led forth in peace;
the mountains and hills
will burst into song before you,
and all the trees of the field
will clap their hands.
isaiah 55

(read the whole chapter for even greater encouragement)

2 comments:

faith said...

I feel like crying. You write so well.

I can imagine my parents moving away from my house when I get older. It would be sad. Isn't funny how a house, just a mass of wood and nails and paint and paper, can make us feel so comforted and at home?!?

anna grace said...

Love you sarah meadows. (:
Praying for you.