on moving out

This weekend, I moved out of my childhood home. As excited as I was, and as thrilled as I am, seeing the skeleton of the bedroom I once inhabited is nothing short of eerie.

There is a difference between leaving home to move to Africa and leaving home to move across town. In many ways, this is more difficult, because it's not just the place I've lived for the past 8 months, it's the place I've lived (on and off) for the past 23 years.

When I returned home from Nigeria with 3 suitcases, no job, and horrific culture shock leaking out everywhere, my loving family welcomed me back into the home I grew up in. The 4 of us haven't lived all together since 2005, so there were lots of things to get used to! What a blessing though, to have a safe place to land while I worked to get back on my feet (in all senses of the phrase). God has been good, and life has been rich - I now have the perfect job, a great church community, and terrific friends. What I thought was landing zone is really a launching pad!

Two of my oldest friends had a beautiful townhouse and roommate getting married, and I moved in yesterday, thanks in large part to my brother (and his biceps). It's a beautiful place in a really convenient location. And by convenient, I mean that there is a Chipotle, Noodles, Starbucks, Potbelly, and Thai restaurant within one block. ONE BLOCK. This could be dangerous.

I promise pictures, but not until after I get my dresser and nightstand. I'm sure you all can imagine what living out of suitcases looks like.

Here's to new opportunities and the imprint that a pale yellow house made on my life.