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Coming home: growing into life and collecting memories.

I am surrounded by boxes and bags as I sit here on the navy blue sofa in a small cleared space in my living room. A large wardrobe is stood a little to the side, ready to get picked up; and by the television there is a collection of wires and boxes. There is a gas-fire that brings a comfortable warmth to an otherwise very grey and dull day.

I moved into my new flat yesterday. My arms are telling me their muscles were used as I carried numerous boxes and furniture, and breakfast this morning included a bit of a treasure hunt to find a bowl, spoon, and box of Weetabix somewhere in the mountain of stuff.

Moving brings back memories and reminds me of years gone by. So many moves... Leeds, Fortaleza, Plymouth, Kansas City, Amsterdam... all cities which were home for different seasons in my life. Specific moving memories popping into my mind as I have been packing and thinking and writing...

1995 when I stood with my luggage ready to get the ferry to Newcastle, England, only 19 years old. Travelling with far too much luggage to start my life as a student at the University of Leeds in England. And after a bit of a rough ferry crossing marking the start, ending my three years of Uni with more knowledge, maturity and friends.

9 years ago when I was moving from Fortaleza, Brazil. There were many late nights trying to screw down heavy wooden curtain rails that were so high up I had to stand on a step ladder and stretch as far as I could. Add to that tropical temperatures and it became quite an ordeal. And driving a little car what felt like probably 10+ times around the block to move my things from my flat to the project of “Casa de Meu Pai”. And then sitting on the floor of my empty flat realising it was the end of an era, and being so thankful for the years I had got to live in that beautiful place (even with cockroaches, scorpions and tiny ants visiting from time to time).

And moving from Amsterdam 2 years ago. Feeling so sad to be leaving the ministry I so loved, yet knowing it was time. Wondering if I would get to again feel as alive as I felt when getting to visit the women in the windows. That life that comes from bringing life to others through a message of hope, dignity and future. And feeling thankful knowing there were others who remained who would continue relationships and keep ministering to those precious women.

The journey of packing which causes one to stumble upon old papers and things which hold such strong reminders of what life has been lived. An ugly yellow mug, which I would never serve someone tea in, yet want to keep as it reminds me of my university years. Or a stained notebook of recipes from when I was in secondary school, which has value only to me. The boxes surrounding me reminding me that even if I haven’t been able to transport many belongings during my travels, I have still managed to accumulate quite a large amount of stuff.

And now I’m here. In some ways it feels like I’m moving into my life. My many years abroad have kept me un-rooted, and where my peers here in Norway are way past the “buying your first house” stage, I am just catching up. It feels like a huge step, and at times it is overwhelming that I now have a mortgage I am responsible for. And yet it’s a step with so much peace. And when there’s peace, everything is manageable.

And so I feel like I have come “home”.  I look forward to make this flat a real home for myself, and perhaps a place of rest and refreshing for others. As I settle more into my life, I hope that when I meet others, be it through my job or otherwise, that I can also bring peace into their lives. And maybe now that I am finding a greater sense of being settled I will start writing more. Find more words to express the ponderings and thoughts about things present as well as past, and as always, mostly writing for myself.

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