As the daughter of a preacher and then as the wife of a preacher, I have been moving since I was 9 months old. I always cry some when I'm packing up for a parsonage move. For me, as a child and as an adult, parsonage and ministry moves were always so bittersweet - knowing it was time to go but packing up the dreams from the current place was and is hard.
But this move - this very last parsonage move - is so very different.
I've not cried some. This time, I've been in a continual state of tears. And it's coming across things like these that cause the tears to run like a waterfall...
(a few things from the bin that contains all of the things that I have meant to, for 18 years, arrange and place in my beautiful wedding scrapbook but have never gotten around to it.)
(left-over material from the making of my wedding dress and napkins from our wedding)
(this is Rob's handwriting on this bin)
(notes from my Rob)
Oh, how I wish he had not run out of breaths.
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