Packing...

I'm packing my things. My things. I've worked hard for these things. Some of them define my life, some of these things I've used only once, some of these things comfort me. But they are just things. Things that shed light on the person I am and what has made me who I am. And I am packing them up for them to move out of my reach into a house that I will be living in in a few months time. They will be staying with a man, who, in a few months time I shall call my husband. Who's name I shall take as my own. A person who I shall share my things with.
Never have I ever paused as long and thought as hard about what I am doing as I have now. I am leaving almost everything. I am taking me, everything I am, all I use to go through my day to another city, another place, that I shall live. A place that I shall hopefully call home once I settle in. But it will be a strange place and it will be foreign and it shall at times be lonely. A part of me is so sad. A part of me, bereft.
Everything is leaving me and changing. So quickly. Time is going so fast and so slow all at once, and I find myself struggling to keep up and cope with it.
I shall assume the identity of a man's last name and be known as his. I shall not be making a name for myself anymore but for us. I shall take my boxes of my things, unpack them, and share them with him. They will no longer be mine. But ours. The very idea.
I wonder how I got here sometimes. I wonder how I happened upon this man, my fiancé, how we dated, how we're engaged, and now how we're preparing to be married. How did this independent, determined-to-be-moderately-wealthy, moderate-feminist woman decide to get here. When did I decide to choose this path.
It's in those small little choices, they all add up to here, this very moment that I find myself: sitting in the corner of my messy, unkempt room with boxes scattered about acknowledging that I am about to be a married woman. These are the shoes some women dream of being in. I never did. I was not one of them. I wanted to be single till I died. I never wanted to rely on any man. I wanted independence, to see the world, to live life unhindered. But that's not what my Maker had in mind.
So here I find myself looking at those empty brown boxes asking myself if I'm scared. And I am. I can't explain how scared I am. It envelopes me, keeps me comfort in this corner that I sit on the floor of my room. What if it's a bad choice.....what if my marriage fails.....what if he can't stand me.....what if I can't share my things....what if I lose my identity....what if I change to something I never wanted to be? The "what if's" could swallow me whole. The gravity of the potential of this choice is hitting me.
So where do I go from here? Stop packing? Leave the open-mouthed brown boxes empty? Or do I keep packing?
My good friend Sarah told me "If you want a great marriage, you get on your knees everyday and pray. You stay in the Word. Everyday. You pray Gods will to be done, and that Todd seeks Gods face daily. But you dont let fear rule you, Michelle. That gives the enemy victory and basically tells God the victory He gave you isnt good enough. You surrender Todd over to the Lord everyday....and you don't make him your anchor. Only God is your anchor." Most comforting and truthful words that could ever be spoken into the heart of someone who is fearful and unsure of the future.
So I will continue to put my things in those empty brown boxes, maybe turn up the music a little louder, and make God my anchor. There are few guarantees in life, but thankfully, God is one guarantee I can count on. Daily.