Over the last couple of weeks, my family and I have been moving, downsizing from a house to an apartment. Throughout the process I have discovered that I absolutely detest moving. Although it is sometimes a necessary evil, I have declared a mandate in our household that we may never, ever move again. I can get away with this because I run things in my household (things like the vacuum, the dishwasher, etc.) and because my wife agrees with me that moving stinks.
The moving process was made even more difficult by a constant rain that lasted for days. This is no exaggeration – one day in particular had been sunny and beautiful all day, but when I walked out of the door with a box in hand to take to the apartment, it immediately began to rain again. As a result of the rain we were unable to use the truck we had borrowed. The rain didn’t stop until the day we had to return the truck.
The unfortunate circumstances didn’t stop there. My wife and I had worked for two weeks, trying to put things together to have a moving sale. We had all the items ready for sale by the appointed day, our garage dressed up like Macy’s at Christmas. We had something for everybody, everything from clothes to toys to electronics to musical instruments. Anything a person could want. Unfortunately, few persons came by; we had inadvertently scheduled our sale on the same weekend a huge community garage sale was in process at the National Guard Armory in town. Needless to say, thousands went there to shop, while our visitors could be numbered seemingly in decimal points.
But there were good things about the move. For instance, we were able to throw a lot of junk that we had accumulated away. We even had some “aha” moments where we found some things we had been trying to find for years. You know, the old “I know I have one of those somewhere” syndrome, where you know you have it, but since you can’t find it you go and buy another one. We discovered that, due to the aforementioned syndrome, we now have up to five of that thing we knew we had but couldn’t find. Now we can say, “I know I have five of those somewhere.”
The theme song of the old “Jeffersons” television show began with the words, “We’re movin’ on up to the east side, to that deluxe apartment in the sky...” Well, we don’t live on the east side of town, we’re definitely not moving up, our apartment is not deluxe and it’s not in the sky. But the first night my family stayed here, half our belongings with us and the other half still at the old house, it still felt like home. I realized that my wife had been right all these years (please don’t tell her I said that) when she said, “Home is wherever we are as long as we’re together.” I just prefer not to use a U-Haul truck to get there.
B.J. Thomas wrote a song several years ago titled, “Home Where I Belong”. The older I get, the more I realize that home is where I belong, both here and in Heaven. I realize that it’s a cliché, but I can’t wait until I get home… where I belong.
What do you think? I’d like to know!