You know, I'm really liking this blogging thing. I rarely write anything anymore, and now I have the perfect excuse to think something through- to create something new as often as I feel led. It's quite the creative outlet and I've become a bit emotionally bonded to it. Already. It makes me feel... Oh I don't know. I can't stand touchy-feely let'stalkaboutourmotivations moments anyway. Cutting to the chase-
I stumbled across a rare piece of writing I did about three years ago, when my kiddokis and I were first beginning our journey as field harvester extraordinaires. I had forgotten what prompted it. I'd had a rush of mixed emotions right at the last minute, and I couldn't verbalize what was happening very well.
So I wrote about it. It's what so many of us who enjoy writing do. When we can't get it out of our mouths, we write. And I did. I'm so glad I did, because not only had I totally forgotten about this little episode in our lives, but I now have a chance to look back. I can gauge where I'm going by looking at where I've been, both physically and with writing.
And here it is, dated December 20, 2008.
We leave in ten days. Ten days to pack three lifetimes into three suitcases. Ten days to distribute the cast-offs, the leave-behinds, the junk we never needed anyway. Today Cricket and Rooster attended school for the last time before we go. The other children will go back in a few weeks, they won't. They accepted it better than I did.
The decision to go wasn't hard. It was what God wanted from us, and it sounded so thrilling, so adventurous. Who wouldn't want to leave this life behind and go to the Great Elsewhere? I've been confounded by the surprise of others- people who were shocked, people who would never do such a thing. Why? Why would you want a normal life? Somewhere in the last few weeks I began to understand. I became afraid. I resisted change. I am normal after all. Who'd a thunk it?
For someone who really isn't doing much to celebrate Christmas this year, I sure am busy. Cleaning out a house takes all of my strength, mostly in the thinking-about-it stages. I am constantly remembering things that must be done. This weekend is carpet cleaning. I am going to get every little grubby spot out of the floor. I rent from my mother. I want this place left as clean as I can get it. While the rugs dry, I'll sort the clothes in the laundry room that don't have a place yet. I have baskets- too small, save for next year, Goodwill, give to so-and-so because her son is size thus-and-such... I swear they are breeding.
I am comforted by the fact that much of this slumbering domesticity will be left behind when I enter the New World. I'll be living in one room with Rooster and Cricket, and there won't be much more than sleeping bags, suitcases, and clothes to care for. I loathe housekeeping. I'll be a much better parent without so many household duties. I'll be taking care of my kids, instead of taking care of their stuff.
I've got fun stuff to tell about leaving, things much more exciting than laundry and spots on berber. It's just that right now, it's just talk. What am I doing now? I'm letting go of an old life, burying the past, and like any funeral, it's not fun. I'll let you know when this part ends.
Photo courtesy of Jane Cleary.