The moving out overnight was traumatic. I won't lie. But moving back 5 1/2 months later has become life-giving in a way I
didn't expect. After getting past the first few weeks of "Where's my...." followed by "Oh, well...it must be gone," I've discovered the joy of closets and pantries and drawers that are only half full.
I know it sounds crazy, but I'm comforted by the "room" that's been made by heartbreak. I don't miss what's missing...or yearn to fill the space left by it. I've given even more of what remained away. I might just be learning to love half-full.
I'm wondering if my heart might be a lot like my house. If maybe instead of stuffing it so full of "padding" to avoid whatever momentary ache might threaten, I could welcome its "empty spaces" instead. If I might come to see them as opportunities for God to further clear, or refurbish or fill as He sees fit, and in His time--not mine.
There's a beauty in half-full that I never realized before...and more room here than I imagined for Him to do a new thing in me.