Mama said there'd be days like this...

I'll spare you the pictures, but I will tell the story.

I can't tell you the number of times that I have moved things and worked with my dad lifting items over the years so we tend to do pretty well together, no injuries that I can think of, until today. Mom and Dad arrived and we went into the garage. Dad got out his dolley and we talked about a plan. The first item we wanted to move was the dresser, but instead of taking out all of the drawers which are packed with my pots and pans and other kitchen items, we decided we could move it packed with the help of the dolley. That was the first mistake.

The second mistake was that I had on flip flops. Again in all of my moves and years of doing things, in general, I like to wear sandals or flip flops. I learned a hearty lesson today...never move large heavy objects with flip flops on.

Dad was on one end and I was on the other, him with the dolley and me pulling back to lift, when all of the sudden it happened. The heavy dresser slipped, and off came the toe nail on my big toe. Surprisingly it really didn't hurt that bad. My mom ran from the garage (wish I had pictures of that) and my dad was horrified. I just stood there looking down saying something like, "It just popped right off. I never knew toenails would do that!" The truth of the matter is, it was still attached by one small corner so I put it back on my toe and began to apply pressure. With Dad at my side apologizing profusely and mom somewhere behind us, I went to the edge of the bathtub and began to run water over it half to numb it and half to remove the blood. It had pretty well stopped bleeding so we put on a bandaid and I wrapped it with gauze and said, "Ok. What's next?"

Dad and mom both said that I needed to go to the ER, but I refused and we went back to the garage to work. Sometime early afternoon, after lunch, my parents convinced me that it had to be pulled off the rest of the way and a doctor needed to give me a prescription so that it didn't develop an infection. So off we went to Urgent Care. I refused to go to the ER.

Mom insisted on going back with me for support, that's important. The doctor assessed the situation and got ready to give me a shot to numb the toe in preparation to remove the nail. I made it clear to the doctor that needle would go no where near my foot until he explained to me where he was putting it. After explaining the procedure, I allowed him to continue. The plan was to put 2 shots on either side of my toe, allow it to get numb and then take off the nail. Pretty simple plan. Mom is facing me sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. As the doctor is giving me the shots, mom is sitting there making groaning noises and looking like she's about to pass out. I will admit the shots hurt and were actually the worst part of the whole thing.

Then, when he actually began to work on the foot, mom is grabbing her head and groaning and breathing hard. I'm just sitting there asking questions and talking with the doc. My foot at that point didn't feel like part of my body so I didn't care what he was doing to it. He decided that even though it was barely hanging on, he would try to reattach it by laying it back down and stitching it with 2 stitches on each side at the top. So, I got 2 stitches (again a groaning mom) and I got to keep my nail. I also got an excuse for 10 days off from work, the amount of time that I'll have to have the stitches. I won't be out that whole time, but I definitely plan on being out for some of it.

The funny thing is that it doesn't look like anything happened to it at all since he stitched it back down, but I definitely know it's gonna hurt tomorrow. So, if you see me in a boot, that's what happened.

Crating

When I moved into the mission house at the end of April, I honestly thought 2 months to crate would be plenty of time. I would have time to relax and take it easy for the time I was here, spending time with friends and making final preparations. It just hasn't quite worked out that way. From the never ceasing rain, to traveling home to be with my family, to working full time still at the church, I have fallen way behind on my schedule.

The IMB has given me 300 cubic feet to pack in. I have no idea what that means. Let me put it another way. I have approximately 7 ft by 7 ft by almost 4 ft. Someone told me to compare it to packing in a walk-in closet. I think that's a pretty appropriate comparison. I also asked several missionaries what to pack and for tips on packing. One that I appreciated the most was, "Pack like you're a drug dealer." I have. It's amazing what you can get to fit inside something if you have to.

Another great thing about crating is that you have to list every item that goes into your crate and not just every item, but specifically what box each item is in. So by the end of my crating experience, I will have an itemized list by box of everything that I have packed. Then my crate will be shipped off to stay in a port here until released, then off to a foreign port and finally to wherever I end up. Round trip approximately a year and a half or longer. In all of this, I have to think about what I need immediately to take with me and what I can live without for a year and a half.

The picture that I've attached is of the garage at the mission house where I am living. Not all of the stuff in the picture is mine there are some missionaries storing things at the mission house, but most of it in the middle actually is my stuff. Yes, 7 x7 x4 are the crating dimensions.

Oh, my. I have lots of work to do and little time to do it. I'll keep you posted.

Moving

I moved last week from my home of 5 1/2 years into Living Hope's Mission home. What a blessing it is to have this home to move into. I feel so honored to be able to live here and well taken care of by a church that isn't even my own. What an amazing blessing that I cannot say enough about!

I anticipated the move being emotional. Yeah, I know, I'm not usually an emotional person, but I have loved my home and treasured it as a gift from the Lord. I also see this as the first real major step in actually leaving. So, Sunday night before the move last Monday, I thought a lot about it being the last night in my house and what Monday would be like. I thought that seeing the house empty would be sad and somewhat painful. Instead, I got up early to enjoy some coffee (as usual) and sat on my couch with the windows open listening to the birds singing and enjoyed the quiet and my time alone. Then, as the people who had volunteered to help arrived, there was joy and peace and good fellowship. I was thankful for the help that made the move go smoothly and quickly. We were done in 2 hours! As we arrived at the mission house, I felt excitement and more peace. I can't explain what a gift from the Lord this is. I will go through lots of transitions over the next several years so having this one go smoothly has been such a blessing.

Now, I am feeling a bit overwhelmed. I thought that moving out of my house and pairing everything down to just what I am taking with me would give me these next two months to rest, spend time with people and prepare more. Instead, I have realized I have to get rid of more of my things and the packing process will probably take most of the next two months to do. I am thankful for the 2 months and looking forward to what is ahead.