it's tomorrow

it's no longer in the distant future; it's tomorrow.
tomorrow he comes for me, readied as he can be.
we'll pass brown boxes and rubbermaids, boxsprings and bookshelves into a trailer and truck.
we'll receive blessings and prayers of from the people of my Michigan life.
and monday morning (following a special breakfast and probably tears) we'll drive away.
into the sunset, as they say.

what will await me on the other side?
an emptied bedroom (it has pale blue walls; it is off the dining room).
a house full of jovial, godly people who already love me, and who are sitting down to dinner.
(that's all i know so far).