Why do transitions bring on tears...?

If I had any doubt, whatsoever, as to whether I was a girl or boy, I learned this past week that I am definitely a girl, because most boys don't cry this much...

For the last two nights, Kelly, Alex, Junghwa, Courtney, Whitney and I worked diligently packing up and loading our house, 810 West Argand Street. This morning on my way to work, I walked through a living room once filled with vibrant memories of the girls I love, now taken over by large dust crops growing on our baseboards where the bookshelves once lived. We sat in a circle, criss-cross, in our living room enjoying our last cup of coffee together, using the only 5 mugs we did not pack up. Alex prayed for Courtney, a sweet prayer, asking for peace in her departure to Medford today, and Pasadena in the upcoming weeks. It left none of us dry-eyed. Transitions are always hard.

I went to the new house, it was nice, but it is not 810. Over the last 2 years, 810, as we call ourselves, has been a saving grace for me. Joy radiates from the girls in that house, smothering any one who enters with an overwhelming sense of love (at least that is my experience). How do six girls become so close, one might ask? Well I don’t think you have to hang around my friends more than five minutes to realize how perfect God created them and how special they are.