Moving Boxes
"He who is outside his door has the hardest part of his journey behind him." ~Dutch Proverb
I have a love/hate relationship with moving boxes. 18 years and over 8 moves later, these symbols of the military life have been ever present.
We are moving again, but this move is different. We aren't moving to a far away land, I don't have to pick up my job and find another one, the kids aren't writing goodbye letters to their friends. We are only moving two miles down the street into a larger home.
Moving boxes say so much. They sit in the hallway, leaning against the wall and just taunt you with the amount of work they require. They demand to be filled, and then demand to be unpacked. I've become a master at setting up, packing and labeling moving boxes. Last week we were at my brother's house packing his things because he is moving to live with us. As I grabbed and flipped the moving box over, and taped it with the ease of a cattle rustler, our oldest just watched in awe. "How do you know how to do that so well?" he asked. "Years of practice." I answered.
Moving boxes offer a world of promise. They whisper that there is a journey that awaits. They promise to meet you wherever you go. They beckon that the work is worth the excitement that sits at the other end. We've packed up all of our belongings and sent them to exotic places. I've seen these boxes on the backs of South Korean movers, and German movers and American movers. We've watched in awe as the large trucks have driven up and reunited us with everything that could make a house a home.
Moving boxes offer finality. As I packed out my mother's house, the boxes were the last sign that things are now different. Mom isn't away on vacation. She isn't coming back. This really isn't a dream. The home she loved so much now sits vacant. The home we are in currently will be the same. The boxes will be packed, the furniture moved and the echo will return. Our time in this house is done. This chapter of our life has finished.
Time to wrangle some boxes, roll up my sleeves and pack up a house ~ the next leg of our journey awaits.
I have a love/hate relationship with moving boxes. 18 years and over 8 moves later, these symbols of the military life have been ever present.
We are moving again, but this move is different. We aren't moving to a far away land, I don't have to pick up my job and find another one, the kids aren't writing goodbye letters to their friends. We are only moving two miles down the street into a larger home.
Moving boxes say so much. They sit in the hallway, leaning against the wall and just taunt you with the amount of work they require. They demand to be filled, and then demand to be unpacked. I've become a master at setting up, packing and labeling moving boxes. Last week we were at my brother's house packing his things because he is moving to live with us. As I grabbed and flipped the moving box over, and taped it with the ease of a cattle rustler, our oldest just watched in awe. "How do you know how to do that so well?" he asked. "Years of practice." I answered.
Moving boxes offer a world of promise. They whisper that there is a journey that awaits. They promise to meet you wherever you go. They beckon that the work is worth the excitement that sits at the other end. We've packed up all of our belongings and sent them to exotic places. I've seen these boxes on the backs of South Korean movers, and German movers and American movers. We've watched in awe as the large trucks have driven up and reunited us with everything that could make a house a home.
Moving boxes offer finality. As I packed out my mother's house, the boxes were the last sign that things are now different. Mom isn't away on vacation. She isn't coming back. This really isn't a dream. The home she loved so much now sits vacant. The home we are in currently will be the same. The boxes will be packed, the furniture moved and the echo will return. Our time in this house is done. This chapter of our life has finished.
Time to wrangle some boxes, roll up my sleeves and pack up a house ~ the next leg of our journey awaits.
With out these "SUPER" wives/moms/movers, us Military guys could never get anything moved in a timely manner or fashion. I know I couldn't have done it without my "super lady" organizing it all and making sure I had my Army stuff at the other end. I count my blessings everyday that the LORD has blessed me with her. Pam you are such an inspiration to me and GOD has truly blessed you with the gift of giving, caring and helping others. Vic is a very lucky man and I know he values all that YOU do for the Lindenmeyer Family. GOD BLESS and keep up the great words of comfort and inspiration for all.
scotty
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