Hidden by mountains of cardboard boxes, I sit in a corner of my home. Laptop close by, coffee maker and microwave, a cup, a bowl, a plate too. A can opener, a couple of spoons, a fork and a knife rest in the holder. A tin of this and that, a bag of rice, Ramen noodles are in my cupboard. Fresh fruit, dairy and bread are in the fridge. A fabric shopping bag holds all vital papers, always kept ready to grab and go.
In the cardboard boxes are all the decorations and linens. In the cardboard boxes are all the dishes, pots and pans. In the cardboard boxes are photos of memories and memorabilia of travels. In the cardboard boxes are books of wisdom and encouragement.
The furniture has been pushed aside and compactly stacked. The walls have been stripped of their paintings and framed art. The curtains and drapes have been taken down, laundered, pressed and folded away. But one clock can be seen.
My home looks in disarray. My home looks in a state of destruction. It’s not over yet. My story has not ended. My home is packed in readiness. My home is in transition. Some people have seen from where I have come. Some have seen the strongholds and the walls from which I have been set free. I may be surrounded by cardboard boxes today but soon I will be moving to a home where I am free to set roots and thrive.
I have been favored and I will be delivered. In mercy I will be carried home and time will not matter. I will be fed on the finest and with the finest. The furnishings will bear testimony of gifts richly bestowed. A royal foundation has been laid and reinforced again and again. I may be surrounded by cardboard boxes today but it won’t always be like this. Sooner or later, it’s turning around for me. I can see, I can feel it happening. I see my future and it’s already been prepared. My story has not ended. There’s still yet more testimony to tell.