Transition is the word of the day, the week, the month, the last three months. 

Dictionary.com defines "transition" as:

1. change or passage from one state or stage to another

2. the period of time during which something changes from one state or stage to another

3. (music) a movement from one key to another: modulation by linking passage between two divisions in a composition; bridge

Some change comes almost instantly, as when hubby says, "I got a call. The company is over budget, out of money, and sending the contractor home. The next inspection job starts next year. Can I retire?" Forrest Gump was tired and ready to go home. And just like that, without transition or that musical bridge, the music of our lives changed.  

Some transition is relatively short, like driving from one state (North Dakota) to another state (Texas) with two loaded trucks and a trailer. It was a three day transition on two lane state highways driving across our great United States, almost border to border. It was our sixth and final bittersweet drive on those roads. Then we were Texicans again.

Other transitions go on and on and on. And on. For example, when people have not really lived in a house for eight or nine years, and those same people bring in  boxes of treasures from the northland, only to find that every closet, cupboard, and corner in the south is already occupied over the maximum allowed limit.

Now, three months later, we have had a few side trips, gone to a premier vintage junk market, had our own non-premier vintage market (aka garage sale), and packed the dumpster weekly. We have donated a pickup load to the local thrift store and given another to a neighbor who will meet her sister on the Rio Grande River bridge to hand off a couple of suitcases of clothes for her Mexico family.

Change (or cleaning out a closet) can cause momentary chaos. You drag all that junk out, organize it on the bedroom floor, and make those three recommended piles - throw away, give away, keep. And put it back with a little new junk from a land faraway. Then....repeat.

Psalm 51:10 says, "Create in me a clean heart, O God. Renew a right spirit in me". Someone has said that repentance creates room for Jesus. Repentance cleans out what is hidden in our closed heart's closets and drawers. But, as much as my kitchen utensil drawer wanted to be clean, organized, untangled, and easy to open, she had to give up some stuff. She had to be emptied, laid out, and counted. Purged. It was all good stuff, but after a good cleaning, her heart held only the best stuff. 

Then, if you, my friend, visit me, you will likely think, "she needs to clean up this messy house." But you can't see my orderly linen closet or the coffee cups I purged, because this house in is transition. You can't see that I started with the inside and someday, you can see the change on the outside. You might think that about me and my temple, too. Sometimes it takes a while for my temple to reflect the cleanliness of my heart.

We are reconnecting, and transitioning into whatever our lives will look like back here in the sometimes harsh land of things that of sting, prick, and bite. We are dining with people friends and critter-friends while we ponder who we are back in Texas. We are missing our northern friends, too.

If you are reading this from North Dakota, you need to know that all these photographs, except the cotton field, are from my inheritance - the family farm/ranch. You have seen my daddy's junk yard, prickly pear cactus, ripe mesquite beans, my happy place - the pasture, my back yard, a jack rabbit, quail, dove, and a scissor tail with her scissors closed.

Most evenings will find us in front row sunset theater seats in our back yard. This transition hasn't been easy or smooth, but it all dims in the evening light show.

"It is the goodness of God that leads you to repentance."
Romans 2:4

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