you know...we humans don't like change
I knew this to be true, fully appreciated the fact, yet purposely ignored it until it came to change in my own life. Change comes whether we want it to or not, whether we are prepared for it or not. People say change is the only thing that's constant. I believe it's true.
Yet as much as I abhor change sometimes, I am dead without it. If I am not growing (i.e. changing) then I am stale, stagnant, lifeless. And what I want more than anything is to be alive. To be alive in Christ is the ultimate goal.
So what does this have to do with moving? Everything. It's a chance to start over by forming good habits, or to repeat the bad. It's a change in scenery, people, bed comfiness (I assume because my bed right now has to be like sleeping on a cloud in heaven it's that good). So here I've been neglecting to pack for weeks. Not excited by change you might say. I've pretty much dug in my feet to all but kick and scream at the prospect. Even now I'm procrastinating because I just can't bear to pack up another box of my life and put it in storage for an undetermined amount of time. Because the books, the cds, the photo albums. These are my life...to an extent. Or a reminder of life lived before that I want to desperately hold on to and remember as something more exciting than what I live now.
And sometimes I just want to say, "God, can I really be this desperate for You? Not for this 'life'?" Why is it that I always settle for the lesser joys wrapped up in a couch cushion or a metal spoon placed in the drawer so that I always know where to find it? When did I become content with napkins in napkin holders and dirty dishes in the sink? Really, when did I prefer the ordinary to the extraordinary? How and why and when did this happen to me? To me the girl who swore never to settle down but to dash off all over the world and immerse herself in every new and exciting part of culture that she could find. When did that girl become content with coming home every night and falling asleep? Is this what being an adult means? I want to want the excitement of the extraordinary again.
Yet as much as I abhor change sometimes, I am dead without it. If I am not growing (i.e. changing) then I am stale, stagnant, lifeless. And what I want more than anything is to be alive. To be alive in Christ is the ultimate goal.
So what does this have to do with moving? Everything. It's a chance to start over by forming good habits, or to repeat the bad. It's a change in scenery, people, bed comfiness (I assume because my bed right now has to be like sleeping on a cloud in heaven it's that good). So here I've been neglecting to pack for weeks. Not excited by change you might say. I've pretty much dug in my feet to all but kick and scream at the prospect. Even now I'm procrastinating because I just can't bear to pack up another box of my life and put it in storage for an undetermined amount of time. Because the books, the cds, the photo albums. These are my life...to an extent. Or a reminder of life lived before that I want to desperately hold on to and remember as something more exciting than what I live now.
And sometimes I just want to say, "God, can I really be this desperate for You? Not for this 'life'?" Why is it that I always settle for the lesser joys wrapped up in a couch cushion or a metal spoon placed in the drawer so that I always know where to find it? When did I become content with napkins in napkin holders and dirty dishes in the sink? Really, when did I prefer the ordinary to the extraordinary? How and why and when did this happen to me? To me the girl who swore never to settle down but to dash off all over the world and immerse herself in every new and exciting part of culture that she could find. When did that girl become content with coming home every night and falling asleep? Is this what being an adult means? I want to want the excitement of the extraordinary again.
posted by Karen | 6:51 PM
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