A couple of days ago, my friend and I set out to seek an apartment for next fall semester. My employment had kept us from rooming together, but with my plans to work in the library in the fall, we decided we both wanted to room together.
It's unfortunate the short video series I made during our journey was unusable in a blog setting, but, regardless, know we had an epic time seeking and eventually finding the place we wanted to live. We even went so far as to fill out an application with the landlord there so she could double check our claims to upstanding backgrounds.
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| I don't think the landlord was too worried about 47% of us. |
Instead, I felt pretty calm about the whole thing. Looking around felt easy and comfortable, and I wasn't overly concerned with the outcome. In thinking about it, I recognize this might have been due in part to my constant roving across--at the very least--the Western hemisphere, a journey requiring particularly frequent displacements in the past five years or so.
I don't blame others for being anxious to move on to the next step, though. I'm sure we were all anxious as we waited for our turn to come down to earth after waiting at the very least six thousand years, if not more. Even in that sense, I feel strange urges that make me wonder if my Spirit is not also eager to be resurrected. Wherever we go, I think there's something inside that helps remind us we have at least one more home to call our own.
I wonder if we'll continue to feel that up until we finally do arrive in our Father's rest.
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