From where I stand; v.2.

From where I stand, I see piles of long-overdue laundry holding the ability to easily take up three small washers in the tiny smelly college apartment laundry room downstairs. I see red and green socks that trigger Christmas morning memories, that miss their coordinating pair of green and red identical ones belonging to one blue-eyed red-haired boy. You know it's time to do laundry when you are down to the few pairs of socks that generally get shoved in the very back space of your drawer, you know the ones with holes peeking out in the tips of the toes. The ones that you struggle to get rid because of those days exactly like today. Back-ups. Because don't we all always need some kind of security blanket; in life, in socks. 

From where I stand, I hear Pandora blasting, shifting between upbeat tracks of both familiar and unrecognizable songs. My feet sway to the music as I toss T-shirts and dirty socks into their respective color-coded piles on top of the generic ugly gray carpet. I struggle to sing along. I pretend to know all the words alone in this tiny apartment, as I float around the room finding socks that have tried to hide from their hot water doom in the dark shadows underneath the bed.  

From where I stand, I see leggings peeking out from under jeans. Jeans that are starting to get a little looser in the knees and waist, reminding their wearer of the victory of shedding those holiday unwelcome pounds. I mean cookies and pies. The thin black leggings add an extra layer of desired warmth against the winds and chill of the single digit January temperatures, as I walk across campus to work this afternoon. I shivered even in all the layers I have donned. I long for summer and warmer temperatures and then immediately pray I didn't speak or think too soon, hoping that I didn't welcome the overwhelming humidity of the inevitable July and August months  more than usual or necessary in my future home. 

From where I stand, I take in a deep breathe and for a moment, I clear all the plans, all the appointments and meetings, all the wedding deadlines and stresses of moving and packing up gradually. I take a snapshot of this seemingly insignificant moment and hold it with great accomplishment. I chase away the already-thoughts of all that could go wrong and all the fears of the upcoming months and for a moment 

I allow myself to be. 

To be in that minute, that moment. Be in that afternoon. Be in the cold, tune out the notes and dwell in the silence. Be in this college apartment for the next and last few months, living alone and together with friends, and clothing myself with more independence and lessons and accomplishment of all that I've gained and learnt in the past four years. Be before I take on my new identity as wife. I allow myself to be as the reel rewinds of all the fighting and tears, that February night in the hotel, those winter days in the corner room, all the darkness and triggers, every thing I have beaten down, including myself. 

And I overflow with gratitude towards my Heavenly Father of all that He has brought me to, where He has allowed me to walk and not walk, to be and to go, to see and to learn, 

and I stand a little bit more confident, 

a little bit stronger.   

"But the Lord stood with me and strengthened me," 

2 Timothy 4:17.

From where I stand; v.1.

From where I stand I see a sleepy, needy dachshund who has been stuck like glue to my side for a solid week now. He has insisted on being in my face, in my space, on my lap, under the covers and next to me anywhere and everywhere constantly. Say what you will if you're not a 'dog person' but he knows when I'm leaving or when I'm about to leave again. It makes me sad to know that I will have to ultimately leave him home. 

From where I stand, I a see a sunlight spot trying to peek in through the family room skylight after this cold snap and bitter January air we've been struggling with. I see a slight glimpse of sun through the thirteen windows of the sun porch and the broken, bare winter trees in the backyard. I see the remnants of a blizzard starting to wash away with rain. 

From where I stand I saw an anxious heart and stirring mind. But I've found a tremendous amount of new peace and courage. This time home has been trying and getting ready for a wedding and move and life change is easy to psych yourself out for. I was talking to a friend recently and was starting in on all my worries. I kept bringing them up and dumping them out in the safety of our conversation. Suddenly she said, "Wait, but you'll be with him. You guys will be together." No matter what else happens, I feel like I've spent so much of my emotions, so much of my time and energy worrying about being separated from what I've known or what I'm familiar and comfortable with, that I've forgotten who I'm doing it with. In all the chaos and change, I've fixated on the looming presence of change and insecurity that I've let it slip from the forefront of my mind who I'm doing this adventure with, and why I'm doing it with him. 

From where I stand I see a home created by people who love me, numerous blessings through provisions and comforts we are fortunate to have. A fireplace still with the coals from last night's fire when people cannot afford heat, or the remains of today's baking experiment as I experiment with my looming identification. I see scattered pictures of new family babies and growing up cousins and brothers and pets. I see touches of my mother's style and Christmas decorations that escaped the clean up by labeling themselves as winter instead. I see the past weeks of traffic through that family room in my memory; new friends and old, wise friends and long talks, gatherings around the fires with parents, late dinners and tv trays. I guess I never really will leave this place afterall, or rather maybe it won't leave me. I'll bring pieces of it into my own home, visions and memories of it into my future.