What It Looks Like When I'm Leaving

This is what it looks like when I'm leaving.

 Luggage on the floor.

 Empty drawers.

 Piles of blankets on my bed.

 Chaos. Confusion.

 And inside I feel the same way. Excited to go back, sad to leave. Optimistic for all that may happen, fearful of all that won't.

 It's time to turn my bookshelves over to straighten them again.

 It's time to gather my special books that go everywhere with me.

 It's time to pack all of my things and lug it back to Michigan one last time. Or will my things stay there? Is this the last time I have to pack up my life like this? Will I live in Michigan after I graduate?

 I don't know. And it's hard not knowing.

 But it's mostly hard because I don't know what I want. I don't know what I want to happen. I don't know where I want be.

 Actually, I know what I want. I want both.

 I want both Michigan and Vermont. I want the mountains and the vast, open sky. I want family and my childhood friends, but also my new family and friends.

 But they can only coexist for one more year. One last year of college.

 So I pack.

 I wonder at the year ahead of me, the life I will have after graduation.

 As I squeeze clothes into every little space in my luggage, I pray for blessings, contentment, strength, and the wisdom to trust God no matter what does or doesn't happen this year, or wherever He takes me after graduation.