the laundry basket of life.

To know me is to know that I write.

And while I haven't abandoned the other chapters over at spontaneous blah or pitter pats, a new chapter has begun to unfold in this epic called life.  A chapter worthy of it's own corner in the wires.

I've spent the last two months processing through the events that have led us to this point.  Most of the time, I feel like the laundry basket sitting idly in the corner of my now bare master bedroom, billowing over with dozens of socks.  Pink tiny ones, funky polk-a-dotted ones, solo dress socks and a plethora of athletic socks without a match.  Dozens upon dozens of socks, waiting to be matched and put neatly away.  Dozens and dozens of socks that have a partner and place, but that sit in a laundry basket just waiting to be plucked and worn.

The laundry of life began to pile up about two months ago.  Two months ago, life was stable.  Everything had a place.  Everything was neat and tidy.  My guy had a good job.  I had a good job.  Our girls were healthy, learning, growing.  There were plans hovering on the horizon.  Plans of vacations, mission trips, paying off cars, swim teams, birthday presents and piano lessons.  There were moments of hesitation, moments when we wondered if we had gotten in over our heads, but with one look at our girls and a couple of lattes, we brushed our hesitations aside and pushed forward so that we could continue to keep up with the pace of the world around us.

And then one Thursday morning, it all came crashing down.

I was home with a headache, curled up in my recliner, when my guy walked in the door.  It was 10:00 a.m. and he had his bag.  And I knew.

"They're letting me go."

I remember only shock and numbness.  Betrayal, hurt, anger...those all came later.

My guy had been eyeing a position with a different company.  He was good at his job, enjoyed his job, had built a team he valued and admired, but he felt like there was more.  And so he dared to look, dared to explore what else may be out there.  It was me who had encouraged him to be frank with his managers.  It was me who had said, "You should tell them you're looking at this job.  They value and respect you; surely they will encourage you and support you."

Apparently I am not the judge of character I thought I was.

And that was when the laundry basket of our lives began to fill up.

* * * *

But you see, this is only the beginning.  Because we have armed ourselves with a whole lot of love, faith and laundry detergent.  So peek in as we sort this thing called life, one load at a time.