This ascetic cubicle of regret...you couldn't go back he understood that now. You had to press on. You had to forge ahead.~Elizabeth Brundage (From The Vanishing Point)

I've been thinking about moving when you don't want to. When you are forced to. A good friend of mine had to pack up and move quickly. Rent a truck and find boxes. Boxes are hard to find. You have to scramble. So much tape. So many emotions that must be pared down along with all the things.

His mother came to help, kept things flowing. "You probably won't use that. Leave it here." She wrapped the oriental vases carefully, her hands strong. Capable. 

And so a picture here, another there removed from the wall. You can see the outline of the frame, the paint slightly darker where the picture once sat, the hooks exposed. A naked, vulnerable space.

A bare corner where a chair used to be. The dogs pacing, their nails clicking on the hardwood. Disarray. The house moans with things torn apart. The gaping boxes are open mouths devouring history. Quick! tape them up. Bandage the wound. Staunch the blood, the pain bone deep.

The truck finally packed and ready to drive away. I'm sad too. I probably won't see that house again. My friend won't live there anymore. What is next? There is no certainty now. There is no new address. 

 My friend says in the midst of the chaos, "God gave me this word,' However, as it is written: What no eye has seen, what no ear has heard, and what no human mind has conceived--the things God has prepared for those who love Him.'" (I Corinthians 2:9, NIV)

God's promise like celestial navigation in the open ocean of life where no landmarks exist.