Now Playing: KOSU.

It's begun... again. Moving is never my favorite thing to do. Is it anyone's? The only truly rewarding part is knowing that when you get wherever you're going, you'll get to organize everything just the way you like it all over again. Or something like that.

The downsides of moving far outweigh the benefits, though. I've spent the last two weekends saying good-bye to people. Not as bad as the last time this happened, but good-byes have never been my strong suit.

Then these past two afternoons have been spent boxing things up. Amazing, the amount of stuff that accumulates, even when you're not a homeowner! I've produced about twenty boxes' worth of stuff--journals, photo albums, letters, kitchen utensils, blankets, old dolls--that all has to go somewhere conveniently out of the way. Hence Laura, Stephen, and I worked up good appetites this morning hauling boxes up the attic steps. We used a bucket brigade technique: Laura heaved the box up the ladder to Stephen, who hefted it up on his shoulder to me, where I knelt on the dusty plywood of the attic floor.

Our attic is surprisingly small for such a big house, and a large part of the space is already occupied by old computer boxes and a guinea pig cage. Laura and I managed to make room for most of the boxes, though we had to clear space in a corner of the green attic for the really heavy ones, the ones that none of us could get up the ladder. (Did I mention that the ladder is wooden and creaks ominously even when Laura or I step on it?)

Once that ordeal was over, and I had all the things I'm not taking out of the way, it was time to pack what I am taking. Thankfully, Laura sold me her bed and desk, so I don't have to worry about those--but I'm determined to get my big blue wing chair up to Bloomington, as well as two bookshelves, two lamps, and a set of plastic drawers.

And that's just the furniture. I've managed to fill three suitcases with books and clothes, not to mention the several boxes full of miscellany. It seems like an impossibly large amount of things. I keep wondering whether the new place will have space for it all and wishing that I were equipped with Harry Potter-style powers and could just move the boxes effortlessly.

So the gypsy caravan is preparing to be back on the road again, knees, neck, back, arms, and hands aching. Good times! Humans are ridiculous creatures. Why bother placing so much importance on material goods? We can't even haul them along when we die, though of course we've tried.

I'm inclined to laugh as I write this. It's been a bonding experience for Laura, Stephen, and me already.

There's something humbling and comical about seeing all of one's earthly possessions done up in cardboard and packing tape--comical because all of those boxes put together weigh at least three times as much as I do; humbling because it's a reminder to me, as my muscles and joints tremble under the weight of one box of journals, that in God's eyes I am not much more durable than that cardboard.

But thanks to God's loving hands, I hold something that cardboard could never contain: "We have this treasure in jars of clay, that the surpassing power may belong to God...."