Seven Days. Down to the wire. Will all of our stuff fit into a truck? Into the next house? Gandhi keeps whispering from our emptying rooms, "Simplify. Simplify."
Harriet, where are you? You aren't writing. I talked to Mom today and she said she was thinking to herself, "Why don't you just talk to each other?" I laughed. It's a game. Write to me what you are thinking and feeling.
The days are intensifying with difficult goodbyes. My staff got together last night at Rosie's where most of Morgan Hill walked through for Taco night. You were there too with your friends outside saying goodbye. Today your office said goodbye, my last night of choir. Friends are acting weird around us -- people we love and who love us are angry, not saying goodbye at all. Others are straight forward, refreshing. Janet gave us a prayer afghan, she said 19,000 prayers. I can see each one of them.
My office mirrors some of the weirdness. I am almost done, the rooms are a mess, but the art is still up on the wall giving a strange normalcy to a world gone crazy. I have been looking at the God's eyes that I did for Lent. Everything swirling around, but in the center, simplicity, simplicity.
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