It’s amazing to me how connected I am to my stuff.  My things.  My worldly possessions.  It’s sad, really, and kind of embarrassing to admit.  But, I have to say that when the movers left on Friday, and my house was suddenly quiet, and very empty, I felt lost and lonely.  I felt like a huge part of me was missing.  It was a very unsettling feeling.

How could I feel that way just because my stuff was gone?  Why did it matter so much?  Why did I feel lost?  And why did I feel lonely?

Maybe it’s about my identity.  I put my stamp on my home.  It’s a direct reflection of who I am.  It tells the story of my life in some way.

Maybe it’s about belonging.  This has been my place to call home for a while now, and suddenly it doesn’t feel like home anymore.  I feel misplaced.

Maybe it’s about comfort.  Cozy couches and beds.  Warm blankets.  Family meals around the table.

Maybe it’s about all those things.  What I hope it isn’t about are the things themselves, but rather what they represent.  I certainly hope that my security isn’t grounded in material blessings.  I don’t think it is, but it’s something to think about.  Ha!  That’s me, always thinking.