On moving to Lincoln

Packing for a move is a humbling experience. You start really excited to pack up all the sacred objects of the house. For me it was the books, records, guitar and the really special pictures Katie and I bought for ourselves at the 3 Rivers Arts’ Festival when we learned we were moving. You get all of those things packed up, bubble wrapped, etc., and you then realize that you have packed like .02% of your things. There’s so much more: stuff you forget you had, stuff you barely use, and even more stuff that was gifted you, or just accumulated from your last trip to your mother’s house. There is so much discovery in packing; you pick up things and you remember younger parts of yourself that bought this, that drove excitedly to get that.

Packing is a spiritual exercise, not least in and through the prosaic repetition. Anything that involves embodied repetition, that gets me out of that 100mph joy-ride that is my head, I often chalk up as spiritual.

But even more, packing boxes is like prayer. Prayer – that act of laying open our hearts to the divine Love, allowing all that we are, all that we own and possess to be given over to God. You could say prayer is allowing the contents of our heart to change addresses.

“Here it is Lord, the precious. The forgotten. The lightly used. The dull. The tawdry. Here it is.”

And as I’ve learned, the move, though not without its challenges, is totally worth it.

Garrett Yates