After at least a month of procrastinating, our packing is in full swing (except while I write this, obviously). We’ve made quite a bit of progress, but there is still so much left to do before tomorrow morning’s departure. I’m at that point when we’re far enough along with the packing that I’m no longer freaking out, but still far enough away from being finished that I’m stressing about it.

As I write this, I’m sitting in the guest room, which once housed all of my stuff – all of my clothes, photographs, art, and nicknacks. They’re all packed away in tubs and suitcases, leaving a mostly empty room.

Without all of my things, it doesn’t at all feel like my room anymore. It’s amazing how quickly a home becomes just a house once those familiar things are taken away.

And what’s weirder still is that soon enough (God willing…) this room will house a stranger’s belongings and all of their dreams, hopes, worries. And just like that, a house becomes a home again.

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