We have become His poetry, a re-created people that will fulfill the destiny He has given each of us.~Ephesians 2:10 (The Passion Translation)

I watched my bedroom window go from deep darkness to golden light as the sun rose and made its entrance. I often sit by that window to read and meditate, to gather my thoughts as I open a new day. To make my lists. That morning, though, I could feel my heartbeat thrumming inside my chest, thoughts flailing through all that could possibly go wrong with the move. Fear and a mounting realization emerging that Giovanni and I would face living somewhere impermanently before we landed in our downsize location. 

When my dad died in 2000, I received his Living Bible. My dad loved to study the Bible and had various translations. He often taught classes in the Presbyterian Church where I attended as a girl. This particular Bible held many of his handwritten notes in the margins. That morning I reached for my dad's Bible. I hadn't touched it in several months. In my anxiety-ridden state, I flipped through the pages and landed on a rectangular sheet of scrap paper I'd never found in the twenty years I'd had the Bible. There in my father's distinct printing he'd written a verse out. John 14:4.

Let not your heart be troubled. You believe in God, believe also in me. In my father's house are many mansions. If it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you,, I will come again and receive you unto myself. That where I am you may be also.

Handwriting is personal. Familiar. When you recognize someone's handwriting, it's an intimate encounter. A personification. A sliver of connection. That scrap of paper echoed love. It was as if my earthly father's voice mingled with my Heavenly father's to bring consolation. My dad was always "for me." For Giovanni too. He loved us both and blessed our love. Just as the Heavenly Father is for us. Loves and blesses us too. The words unclenched my heart. Allowed me to release fear about the future, about where we'd go. There would be a place prepared in advance, even if living somewhare temporarily was part of the picture. I ran my fingers over the black ink, the remnant of paper that had waited twenty years for me to find. Comforted. My heartbeat stilled, letting go of trouble.