If the Boxes Could Talk

While we have worked hard to settle into our new home here in California, it seems like the one thing I really need is still in a moving box somewhere. Lesli and her parents worked daily for almost two weeks to empty boxes and establish a place for almost everything. Relatively, we don't have many boxes left. My in-laws have returned east and we are beginning to settle into some daily patterns.

Somehow, the boxes and the stuff in them didn't get the message. We have moved in. We are following a sense of routine. Yet, the boxes keep the secrets of just where the item needed is. I think they move around at night.

The box I thought contained the contact solution was on top the stack against the wall when I went to bed. This morning, however, I looked through the top box. The solution wasn't there. After several minutes of opening, searching, and shuffling boxes, I found it in a moving box at the bottom of the stack. But, I know it was in the top box yesterday. Or, at least I think I did.

If I didn't know better, I would think the boxes are plotting against me. My life would be so much easier if the boxes could talk (and they were willing to spill the beans).

This morning during the search for the contact solution, I thought of the Apostle Paul's teaching that we are citizens of heaven just traveling on planet earth until we get to our home with Christ (Philippians 1:27 & 3:20). Even though they can't speak audibly, the boxes have reminded me that I am on a pilgrim journey. Living like a nomad isn't completely bad. It's given me a fresh perspective on my eternal home and my temporary journey.