The smell of paint is intoxicating. With every breath I feel as though I have lost a valuable part of my brain that I'll never recover. And the glare of the pure white-devoid of all color and warmth, hurts my eyes. Today, two of my walls, which were formarlly a shade of salmon pink that would put the girliest of girls to shame, was painted back to sterile, lifeless, prime coat white.

I've not ever been a fan of pink, really. Not sense I was 6. But the girl before me apparently adored the shade and I would take "excuse me, I just threw up on your walls" pink over "institutional, here's your straight jacket" white, any day.

It's a happy and sad thing, the white walls. They mean I'm moving. And aside from my displaced bed, moved so the walls could be painted, they're the only sign that I'm moving. I'm moving today and I've got nothing packed. Don't get me wrong, I'm excited about the move. I cannot wait to start this next chapter of life. To turn the page and have a clean one to live on and mess with. But I've always been a "swallow the apple whole" type of girl. It's only been in recent years I've learned to "eat" an "apple" by taking bites, taking one or two small things at a time. It's a life saver for my blood pressure, I'm sure.

Even though I've moved at least once every eighteen months since I turned five, in the past few years moving has become one of those things that can randomly stress me out in a matter of seconds. Other times I can do it without a second thought. And this move? Well, I've become so overwhelmed I've done nothing. Weird, right? Yeah. Counterproductive? Definitely. This is a part of me that I'm not a huge fan of. That I wish I could just ignore and it would go away. But important things don't usually work like that. And if God loves me that means He loves my "shut down when overwhelmed" mode that I occasionally embrace. And if the God of the universe can love that part of me, a part I despise, then I guess I can learn to love that part of me as well.

I really am excited to move. I'm also scared and unsure. I'm taking what feels like a dive, not a leap, of faith. There are several, if not dozens, who have judged my decision and tried to make me feel small, stupid, and irrational. But that only finds a home in my heart for seconds at a time. Some of my closest friends have stopped speaking with me, for reasons unknown. And yet I know this move is something I am meant to make, that I have to do. I have no other answers than that. I don't know what lays beyond the next moment, let alone where I will work or how I will cope or who I will meet, the challenges I will face, where the money will come from. I have no answers.

Though my solace is something I fight for, it is found in the truths of God that His Spirit speaks to me. That when I call to Him, He hears and answers. That I will never be covered with shame (Psalm 34). That the daisies, that I don't give two seconds thought to, are perfectly taken care of, and I mean so much more to God than a plant (Matthew). That He loved me in all my brokenness and there is nothing I can ever do to affect His love for me. So it doesn't matter, really, what the others say and think. And the lies the rumor mills perpetuate don't have to affect my heart because my heart is guarded by God when I rest in Him (Proverbs).

So tomorrow I will wake and pack and hopefully praise. Because I am perfectly fine with the unknowns of what's next. I really am at peace. And it's not something I can manufacture.

I kinda lost the skilled writing half way, I think. I blame the fumes.

Night!