With the plan in place, and the miracles having come about, the time to get to work had arrived.  Boxing.  Cleaning.  Moving.  Adjusting.  Saying good-byes.  And with that work came the second guessing.  What was I thinking to invite this change?  I am moving from my home, where I am comfortable and safe.  I will be lengthening my commute from 3 miles to 53, from ten minutes to an hour, each way.  I will be working day and night, six days a week.  I will be living in someone else’s space.  I will be giving up my solitary time for reading, writing, and film.  Did I do the right thing?  And yet, I know with a conviction, as powerful as any I ever received before, that this is the right thing to do.  This is missionary work, and I have been called to this mission.  I am holding on to that sure knowledge as I enter into a time of transition, a time of belonging neither in the old place nor in the new.  I am holding onto that conviction and moving forward with faith, however weak.