Remember those gigantic black duffels? the ones we were so proud of finding and packing just days before we left the States? the ones we loaded onto trolleys at airports, carried up and down stairs at a hostel in Germany, partially destroyed during training in South Africa and repacked and stacked in the guest room we were using for almost a month? Yes, those duffels. Well, it brings me great pleasure to announce to you that...
They are all unpacked!
Yes sir, absolutely empty and squashed back into the cute little square-shape they were when we bought them. Worse for the extended wear, perhaps, but we appreciate their faithful service. On only one of them did we discover a tear, and I think a little bit more of the bright orange Duck tape would patch it nicely :)
The implication of having four unpacked duffels in our possession is huge, and we can reach it by following rules of simple logic:
*Packed bags indicate an in-transit period.
*Unpacked bags indicate the destination has been reached.
*We have unpacked bags,
*Therefore, we have reached our destination!
We signed on our charming little flat over a month ago and were able to move in the last weekend in April. (It’s adorbs, guys, but I’m afraid this is still not the post in which I will go into gushing, photographic detail. Keep your shirt on, I haven’t forgotten). I can’t tell you how...permanent it feels to have clothes in drawers, food in a fridge, and a designated place for toothbrushes besides the toiletry bag.
Life is beginning to slow w-a-a-a-y down for us, and with this change of pace comes we know not what. It’s kind of strange to not be looking for a car, a house, a washing machine...now we’re not “setting up” our lives, we’re realizing we have to actually live.
Another part of our nomadic journey was not having a church home. For two people who have been a part of a church since childhood, the “church shopping” phase was one we entered into blindly. It’s amazing that God brought us to the right place so quickly (kind of like he did with the flat, but I’m getting ahead of myself), and we’re grateful to have found a church that fits. Today is Wednesday, and I’m excited to see what the mid-week service is like.
Being new to a church (and not being a child) is a strange feeling. The congregation here is very small, compared to what we’re used to, and I realize I don’t know how to go about “fitting in;” not the shallow, pathetic “fitting in,” but actually making the transition from being a visitor to someone who belongs. If I were a kid, I’d have no problem. A few minutes in a Sunday School class and you’re in. As an adult, it’s harder. I’m not a friendly person (don’t try to argue, it’s a fact), but I’ve found myself trying to be...ok, smiley. My mom would be proud.
While it’s great to have an address again, the transition from nomad to...well, whatever the opposite of a nomad is is probably not going to be very natural. I don’t remember how to build a life in a new place. The only other time I’ve had to do it was when we moved towns in fifth grade, and as I’ve already pointed out, kids can do this sort of thing seamlessly.
Anyone know of a grown-up sandbox?
So as not to be a complete disappointment, here's a sneak peak taken at the flat! This is our back yard, or "garden" as they call yards here. This is the view from the doors off the dining room. We are the end flat, so we only have neighbors on our left.
This is the same shot from our bedroom with the GoPro. Isn't it just a lovely garden? :)
No comments:
Post a Comment