The amount of weight that is my body.
The amount of luggage that I must fit my life into.
And my guitar.
My books are heavier than I’d hoped. I should have known, having too many books has always been my downfall (If you can call being a lover of reading a downfall). I may have to leave some behind.
I weigh in my first suitcase after many careful packs and repacks, 38lbs. Thank God! I swear He does gravity defying miracles when it comes to my luggage. He is so gracious to me.
The second suitcase is not so easy. In here I must fit everything that did not make it into the first one. First attempt: it does not all fit. Second attempt: it does not all fit. With a sigh I begin to pull everything out again. I have too much stuff. Too many things. Not just for this suitcase, but in general. I keep saying that I have to fit my life into two 50lb suitcases, as if that is some kind of accomplishment or truth. But what an incredibly sad thought that is. My life is not in these 2 suitcases. What is in these suitcases is dead. Purchasable. Replaceable. Inanimate. Things. My life does not consist of what I can fit into these 2 suitcases. My life is the reason I am packing these two suitcases. It is what lies ahead of me, behind me, and all around me. It is the people that I love, it is the memories I hold. It is the feet that walk beside me, and the hearts and prayers that go with me as I take the next step. What a blessed thought.
And yet in another sense, what I pack into these two suitcases is my life. It is the reflection of who I am in physical form. It is evidence to my memories, relationships, and thoughts as noted by the letters, journals, and photographs. It is the way that I can carry with me the dear people that I am leaving behind. It is physical necessities for everyday life, these two suitcases.
And my guitar.
It is cold and rainy here right now. I checked the weather, Honduras was 85 today. Every night I dream of it. Every day I think of it, I work towards it. Everyday in my house I have Spanish praise music on, and it takes me back. Back to the place with which I fell deeply in love, the place my heart calls home. I was working on a presentation the other day and came across a video that I had taken while I was there. It was out-of-body, how clearly the feeling of it all rushed back to me. For a brief instant, I smelled the smells, heard the sounds, felt the heat, and heard the voices, as clear as if I was sitting right there on that dirty, schoolroom floor. The reality of it took my breath away. For the briefest of instants, I was home.
As each day passes, my heart becomes both lighter and heavier. Lighter because the weight of waiting to go home is being lifted off of my heart. And heavier because the weight of the goodbyes I must soon say, is terrible. My eyes are no strangers to tears lately. And my heart is no stranger to the feeling of breaking and yet soaring at the same time. They say that grief is the price we pay for love. I hate goodbyes. But for all of their pain, they warm my heart in ways I could never have expected. One of my favorite quotes says ” How lucky we are to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” -Winnie the Pooh. The love I feel, wrapped up in these goodbyes, is overwhelming. I am so blessed. It humbles me to know that I am loved so. My heart overflows. I love you all so very dearly.
100lbs. I find it slightly ironic that I can only take with me as much as I weigh. I don’t know why, but it strikes me.
For all of the things that I can fit into 100lbs, it doesn’t even begin to contain all that I am. All that I hope for, all that I dream of, all that I am going to do, all that I love. And yet at the same time, in a way, it does.
I am on a journey. I am almost ready to go. I am almost all packed, everything is almost all in order. And yet, I will never be ready. I am so human and I am only following the one who is completely God. He says it’s time, and so I go. I am not ready, I am not prepared, I am not equipped. But with Him, I am.
I’m coming home, Honduras.
So here I go.
And my guitar.