big brown box

Packing always leaves a residue on my hands. They're filthy from going through all my dirt... I've always liked being clean.

But it's helping my soul. Clearing out this room, this room that has held so much laughter, confusion, grief and determination. Questions have bounced off all the walls, and endless dreams have drifted up from my sleeping head through the ceiling. Prayers given, prayers answered.

This last week and a half at Gordon is looming over my head. I am filled with angst. How do I find peace amidst all of my tasks and to-do lists? Is peace something worked for? Is it a gift?

I wish I could be given peace in a big box with a golden bow, but I have a feeling it is more like crossing a finish line after a marathon. Running through that red ribbon with my hands raised high.

The question I'm asking as I close boxes with strong, sticky tape is: where is my finish line to cross?