the moving men were surly, the cable men hilarious, the rain drenching, the couch inviting, the shower invigorating, the phone call redemptive, the prayers silent, the sink dripping, and the food overly processed. in short, it's good to be back home.
all the furniture in salimah's apartment has been placed and readied for her return tomorrow. most of the boxes lie, still packed, awaiting more furniture that has yet to be ordered. it already feels like someone lives there, even though no meals have been eaten at the new table, and the shower remains pristine from a pre-move-in cleaning. every so often, the marc train proclaims its presence on the tracks below, and through the window, the familiar horns and dump trucks belch the symphony of this city that has somehow made its way into our blood.
in this place, salimah can live out her cat-like existence, wandering from room to room, gazing out the north- and east-facing windows at the steeples straining heavenward. there are places to tuck away and plenty of breathing room. it does my heart good to know that she will make herself a home there. indeed, she already is.
and in the midst of this odd day of waiting about and putting together random furniture, i experienced a reclaiming of emotional ground, a fresh start, and what felt like not just a new page but a new book altogether. you know, it's been said a million times, in a million churches, by a million people...but the peace of God really DOES surpass all human understanding. and today, during the deluge, in the quiet of a cavernous apartment, with the train chugging its way to some other place, that peace rained down on me.