What I want to know is how this stuff accumulated in my house. I mean I have lived here 20 years, bringing things in, one bag, one box at a time. But when I compile the "outta heres" and haul the bags and boxes to the car and into the local thrift shop that supports a great ministry I just can't stop the amazement of the sheer poundage of the stuff we don't use. And there's more stuff. Lots more. I'm filling another bag with clothes that are becoming meh. And purging some old financial documents one bag at a time at a secure bin at work. And a few pieces of furniture need to go. The mate of the "bounced couch" days are numbered.
Change. I've learned to embrace it, ride it out til the end. Sometimes I'm kicking and screaming, other times weeping with my eyes clinched tight. Once in awhile I ride like a dog in a car, head out the window snorting what life has to offer. Mother to young adult children, a marriage of thirty years, and a desert to mountain to valley waltz with God have shaped me into someone I never imagined I'd be. Life is short and I want to live it. Tears, sighs, laughter and change. Every morsel granted to me. Scrambled, shaken or stirred.