To take it as it comes.

I'm sitting in my dining room, at my dining room table. As I look over the top of my computer (which actually isn't my computer), I see a living room that used to contain my living room furniture, but is now empty--save some boxes and a chair and a cabinet.

You see, my house is slowly transitioning away from being my house.

As the men came in and started moving out the furniture and loading it up, I shut the cats into rooms so that they wouldn't be able to sneak outside. It was after the noise of moving was gone, done, and over that I heard a quiet, "Meeeoow?!?!?!" coming from the room that the cats were in. "Oh yeah!" I thought as I quickly checked the house to make sure all the doors were shut again. I went over to the cats' room and started to open the door. There was resistance to it opening! I looked at the ground to see if I could get a clue of why it wouldn't open more than half an inch, when I saw that it was getting caught on the carpet.

Cecily had been so worried and had tried so hard to open the door that she had actually pulled up enough of the corner to make the door catch on it. I finally got the door open and pushed the carpet back into place, and she cautiously crept out from the room. "It's different," I warned. She tentatively headed towards the living room, turning and looking back at me often, meowing questions. "What happened? What does this mean? What's going on? Why did you trap me?!"

We walked into the living room together, and she continued to carefully investigate the change. She cautiously approached some boxes. "No," I said, "those were here before." The fireplace. "That's the same, too. There's no new stuff yet. It's just that stuff was taken away." She meowed a few more times and rubbed against my legs, as if to draw comfort from the fact that I was still there, too.

As I've been writing this, she continued to prowl around and investigate the changes. She just came over and stood on a chair next to me. "Meow?" I scratched behind her ear, and she relaxed. Now she's lying down, like a lion, in the middle of the empty living room. She's checked everything out, and she's confident that this place, though different, is still hers.

Only for a little while longer, cat. Then things will really change.


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Post Script: You know, this is a really cool picture. I mean, I know that things will drastically change for the cats next week when Dad moves in himself and his furniture, but they don't. And they're content with not knowing. They don't ask, "What does this mean? What's going to happen? Is the world going to end soon?" or any other questions that I find myself asking when something significant changes in my life. All they do, whether it's knowingly or not, is take it as it comes. Also, I will be here through all the changes, and I will continue to be me. That's a picture of how God never changes, even if all the furniture is taken away and all new furniture is brought in. And that is something from which I can take constant comfort.
Selah