It feels like starting over

Empty.

My room sits, empty, as I move back in tonight.  Since Memorial weekend, I've slept in nine beds that were not my own. 9! In three countries, two time zones, and one suitcase. For ten weeks.  The suitcase still sits in the corner of our living room, like someone detonated a bomb at the bottom of it and the clothes are bursting at every seem begging to be worn, put away, or washed.

But my room (due to exhaustion, starting back to work, and the fact my sweet subleaser just left today), sits vacant of little more than my bed, dresser, night table, and a few dresses and shirts I've hung in the closet to bring a sense of normalcy.

It's stripped. Empty. Void. Bare. Simple.

Sort of like my heart.  Minus the simple part.

I sort of like it.  I dread the thought of unpacking years' of clothing from the attic and it returning to its border-line garment-hoarding state.

It's sort of like a fresh start; it remains pure, uncorrupted by the materialism that has ensnared its owner.

And just like my heart, guarded by Christ, nothing can return  in without first coming through m, being judged and deemed perfect, good, and pleasing. I can choose to clutter it up with baggage I don't need, or I can trust that the Lord is doing this cleansing work in my life both spiritually and phsyically, symbolically, to get rid of the junk I didn't know was shoved in the bottoms of drawers or hanging deep (as deep as a 36" closet can get, at least) in my wardrobe.

So, after hours of tears and combat with the enemy over lies he's been steadily feeding me, I return to my empty room, and my bed for the first time in months.  My heart, and tear ducts, are as empty as the shoe rack on the back of my door.  It feels like starting over, because, really, it is.  He's starting over with me, and I'll be the first to admit, that's a scary thought because I know what the assent and terrain look like.  But I know that I need this.  I know that I've had to be brought here, in order to be rebuilt.

So, I guess this is the beginning. Of relearning how to do life.  Not by my standards, but by His.  Of relearning to hear His voice, stand firm in His truth, to beat off lies like a cockroach in a corner.  To only fill the closet of my heart with garments of His glory and righteousness, with His truth, with thoughts of goodness and nobility and purity.

Empty is the best place to be, because it means you've been purged of everything, positive and negative, and left with nothing more than space for Him to do His work.