Threshold of Change

Sorry ahead of time -- this one is really rambly (is that a word?) and probably doesn' t make much sense, but I'm going to leave it that way.

I stand at the threshold
Of the door called change.
Facing the future
Holding on to the past.

What is in the room behind
Is familiar.
The contours of the furniture,
The feel of the rug,
The placement of the lamps,
Are all as they should be.
On the shelves are accomplishments,
Ideas that gave birth to crystal.
As well as failures,
Lumpy mounds of odd clay.
Some half-baked.
I know the path through the room.
Where to step to avoid squeaky floorboards,
And the position of the pitfalls,
The decorating is of my own design,
And the walls are painted with my identity.
The room is mine.

I stand on the threshold,
Holding on to the past.
My hands tightly gripping
The joys of the room.
From this position,
Even the leaks in the roof,
The ugly chair with its tangerine pillows
That I hate
Seem enticing.
Stepping through the door
Means releasing all of it
For it is impossible to carry it through the door.
It all belongs in the past
And needs to be left for the next tenant.
Moving away from the room
Means accepting that that the next person
Will change it,
And might not love it
The way I do.
There is a feeling, though,
That the old room needs fresh air,
And new eyes.

The room in front is foggy,
Filled with haze and uncertainty.
The furniture is amorphous,
Hidden under dropcloths.
The walls and the ceiling
Are undefined
And the limits are not known.
Potential and possibilities
Are exciting and enticing,
But the rules are unfamiliar,
And the lease seems to be written
In another language.
I'm used to hearing the voice of God
In the past,
But in this new room,
The acoustics are different.
Will what I learned in the old room
Be helpful in the new room?
What are the consequences and probabilities
Of failure?
Can I dance in the new room,
Or would I trip and fall?
And am I even smart enough,
To figure out the steps?
And how can I possibly care for the room
As well as the previous tenants?

I stand at the threshold of change,
Listening for God to give me directions,
But two rooms make echoes.

I stand at the threshold of change,
Mourning the loss of what was mine,
Wondering how much of my identity
Gets to come with me,
And how much has to stay behind.

I stand at the threshold of change,
Trying to listen for God.
Do I move forward,
Do I go back,
Or should I be standing somewhere else?
And do I think I'm hearing echoes
Only because I'm forgetting,
That God doesn't only lead,
He also accompanies,
And that He is standing
In the doorway with me?

Image: Remember this photo? From this post? I was at Starbucks this morning prior to my reunion group meeting, and took another picture. Two rooms.