The
funniest things are striking me, as we pack away our belongings in preparation
for the Big Adventure. We haven’t used all of our trash bags, for example. We
have lived in this house for a little over 7 months. This is the first home we
purchased. We built it, saved for it, waited on it, prayed for it.
We
moved in like we were hunkering down for the world war; stashing 20 lb. bags of
rice in the pantry, and economy size bottles of dish soap in the garage. We stored
outgrown infant car seats for a ‘someday’ baby number two and carefully
organized fragile Christmas ornaments on shelves Troy built by hand, as if we
would be here forever.
Of
course, we both acknowledged we would not be in this home *forever*. We were
looking at staying less than ten years, if everything went according to our
brilliant and all-knowing plan. Five to ten years… yes, that seems reasonable.
Even
knowing the limits of our planning, and having lived through God’s ability to
alter our “plans” at barely a moment’s notice (Hello, Paisley!), we still had
faith enough in our own understanding (Mistake! Mistake! Mistake!) to buy the
big box of trash bags. The 185 count box of tall drawstring kitchen trash bags
that we purchased from Sam’s Club upon moving in to our very first big kid home,
to be exact. After all, we have a mortgage. We are responsible. We are two
conservative (money-wise, clearly not with the environment) financially savvy
home-owning adults! We even put back the bulk bag of gummy bears that were already
in the cart to offset the upfront cost (you know, since the bags are a necessity).
So very grown up of us.
I’m not
sure why I am so bothered by these damn trash bags. We still have plenty of
them. They seem to be the only thing taking up space in our increasingly empty
kitchen. We are using them for everything, from hauling off clothes for
donation, to cleaning out closets and boxes. As each one comes tearing off the
roll, it’s like watching a tally of the time that I was so confident we would
spend here. One bag, empty crushed solo cups from a late summer BBQ. Another
bag, raked fall leaves & grass weeds. Another bag, wrapping paper from
Paisley’s 2nd birthday this September.
A metaphor.
Our time, our
careers, our plans – changed and redirected in a way that we were not
anticipating. Mocking our confidence, our sureness. I didn’t buy those trash
bags to move out with. I bought them because, for one minute, we were arrogant
enough to think that we had it all figured out.
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