We had just finished emptying three rooms of the house. I sat down to think of recent days and weeks. Thoughts of how we’d dropped off a small load of things and my car at my parents 6 hours away. Then, we arrived back to continue the process of moving. We continued moving several boxes out of the upstairs rooms, working into the evening.
First, I can’t tell you how much I hate stairs. In the past several weeks we had to pack and clean this two-story parsonage, which also has a full usable attic. Boxes of empty caning jars, cake pans, and many memories. Most of the attic wasn’t even ours. It was over forty years of stuff stored for the now closed church. Much of this was good, but some was painful, as the process of change, church closure, and emotional pain takes a toll. Ill share in a later post another time, some learned advice and hopefully encouragement to other ministers facing such trauma, work, and even headaches of the process.
Last night I sat ponding how nearly twenty years had passed. There are a lot of memories, most are good but some are painful.
Mostly I thought of starting over at fifty five. It seems A little unreal to be going home again. Having to start out on this new writing adventure and working part-time. Setting aside full traditional full-time ministry to write and speak as well as freelance writing.
I know God can open and has started to open doors. Yet, it’s hard to go back to ground zero in life. Starting a new career path. Downsizing immensely to store things. We’ve given loads of stuff to Good Will, thrown out a lot, but still have work to finish with packing for the move.
Life is now tossed away, given away, burned up, and packed up for who knows how long. A lifetime simply gone. It is amazing how it can come to this, boxes with trinkets and clothes, some with memories after twenty years living and ministering in one place. Now going through a couple of months of dying. Feeling pressures from some seeming more concerned about when we are leaving or paperwork than the people we are leaving or the pain we are facing.
Bleeding wounds. Burying friendships, burying years of planning, and burying a part of who we are is a hard process.
Yet, I know God is with us and will continue to open this door before us. We may be down to one room with access to a few of our belongings, but even now, God is showing us open cracks in the door. We know He will be with us. I am hopeful to see where the new chapter is going.
Shippy Woods 
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