After our things being in port for an entire week getting cleared, we received them. Let me start by saying, all of these items have been in storage since August of 2009. David got a deployment job and I moved home to stay with my parents. It was only supposed to be six months. Obviously, that six months turned into, well, longer. Needless to say, all of these things we own, I haven’t seen in quite awhile. Unpacking it all is almost like shopping in a large thrift shop. However, I came across the box of pictures and journals. That is when unpacking went awry.
My husband and I sat on our couch last night scanning the pictures. It is always weird to see the transformations you have gone through. Mine, I feel, have been drastic and I’m not just talking about my hair… In high school and college, I was this petite, naturally blonde thing. Preppy and peppy, I was outwardly confident. I remember being able to walk into a room, head held high, shoulders back, hips with the perfect amount of sway, and I could catch an eye or two. Not too long, the inside of me, the imperfect, nervous shell of a girl caught up with the outside. I began to dye my hair dark. I traded in my mini skirts and cleavage-baring shirts for chucks, jeans, and layered tees. I no longer listened to the upbeat, sunshine music of the Christian variety but instead, chose some mellower tunes. My eyes were drawn to the floor, as was my whole demeanor, upon approaching the inside of a room. Hands in pockets, I remember avoiding any sort of eye contact, if at all possible. And yes, I can see this all in pictures. It’s true what they say, eyes are the windows to the soul, even when printed on sheets of paper.
The journals are a similar story. I sat on the couch today reading intently through them. In these journals, I went from praying for everyone else to crying, and I do mean crying, out to God that He would save me from whom I had become. I felt so much emotion when writing these passages. It was hard to reread. A cocktail of emotions; one part shame for peering into this poor girls life, one part joy for not being in this place today, and one part depression for knowing exactly how I felt then, almost to a point of being that exact same girl again. It was unnerving and yes, I cried. Man oh man, how much of my heart I had given away. To one-night stands. To a bright blue-eyed Christian boy named Nathan, who never even kissed me, but somehow broke my heart worse than anyone who had. To a hardcore, rebellious bass guitar player named Taylor Desjarlais. Yes, that is his real name and with a name like that, how could I resist?!
These journals are written in until about February 2008. This is when I became… happy. Happiness is a funny thing to me. It took away my song writing skills, all of my pretty words, and a drive to be heard. The thing is, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Jesus wrecked my life… in a good way. He allowed me to get pregnant with my son. He changed the love of my life’s heart, so that I would be the love of his life too. And now we are a family, a happy one.
All of this is to say, I guess, that moving always has a different toll on everyone. For me, I equally dread packing and unpacking. However, I enjoy going through all of the “stuff” we have accumulated. It is always interesting to me what I keep, for sentimental or practical reasons. And I love being able to remember who I was, where I’ve been, how far I’ve come and to joyfully say, I am better and wiser, even if just by a smidge.
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