I looked around the room at all the furniture I was leaving behind.
Pictures. Books. My daughter's crib. My own bed. Many of my son's
belongings. Everything I owned was about to fade into nothing more than
a distant memory.
Let it go I heard my Father whisper. I
struggled, not with starting over again, but with leaving behind my books,
Bibles, and Christian wall art, the plaques that had Scripture written
out on them. Hanging crosses that I hung carefully throughout every
home I've ever lived. My reminders of God's presence. A white piece of
wood that had the word
hope written across it in gold. A table
cross that bore one of my favorite verses, Proverbs 3:5-6. I reasoned a
hundred times that the Lord wanted me to make room for these things,
but each time I tried I was quickly rebuked by the Holy Spirit within
me. I didn't understand because they were my reminders of Him after
all. They were, to me, symbols of
God Himself. Shouldn't I keep them close? Leaving them all behind felt wrong, felt saddening. It felt like I was leaving God.
