This kind of transition can't come and go without taking a moment to reflect and remember where I've come from before looking to where I am going. This apartment has been a place of refuge, a haven where I found Jesus, the place where His presence was so real. It was here that He met me, daily providing my needs, patiently teaching and changing me, washing the dark corners of my heart, allowing pain and always promising healing. He wrote pages and pages of our love story in this apartment, boldly displaying His perfect love to a girl so desperate for a love unending. It was in these four walls that I finally understood that He is enough, where I finally surrendered completely to the story He was writing, where I came to the end of myself and He proved to be more than enough.
So, with every packed box I remember. I remember where my Jesus has taken me, the journey, the happy days, the sad days, the moments He felt so close, and those time I had wandered so far. Each box stacked high feels like a declaration of His goodness, His faithfulness, His mercy, and His grace. He has left His mark on every part. His grace woven through the moments of my life like a thread, holding together the parts that were broken and perfectly proclaiming His love.
And yet, leaving this place is difficult. I'm not sure why and I'm frustrated I even feel this way, but as these boxes pile up higher and higher I can't overcome the sense I'll never be in this place again. Yes, there are many parts of this life I don't mind giving up, but what if His presence is felt less? I want to stay in this place - it's comfortable here. What if the next season gets hard or I feel lonely? What if the next set of four walls I find myself in don't offer the same sense of fellowship with my Jesus? And while I know with all my heart that He is always with me, what if it doesn't seem that way?
It's really ridiculous, actually. This season of life I've been wishing away and the moment the light flickers at the end of the tunnel I feel compelled to shrink back into the dark corner of my little cave and feel anxious about the coming change. I feel a little foolish admitting the true reason for these emotions. It's almost as if every box sealed shut is like packing away my Jesus, sealing away a thousand memories and a million pieces of myself.
And then He whispers and the voice I learned to listen for quietly reminds me that He is God no matter where I live. His presence has nothing to do with my location. He knew I'd need Him, so He gave His Spirit and in me He dwells. I can't pack Him away. It has nothing to do with how I feel and everything to do with the reality that HE IS IN ME.
"Do you not know that you are God's temple and that God's Spirit dwells in you?" [1 Cor.3:16]
