They were coming down the street, somebody said, and we were all rushing to have our toiletries, medications, a couple extra pairs of underwear, etc., packed so we could carry them away with us when they arrived. I remember being upstairs, trying to pack a small bag, trying not to forget the essential things that I need to be healthy and whole, realizing I couldn't fit it all in the bag and they were at the front door now. I remember the horrible feeling of despair, that I couldn't possibly fit all the things I needed for an open-ended, forced trip into this tiny bag. I thought, "My medication will run out!" and "I have no changes of clothes!"
And I remembered, after I woke up this morning and I was brushing my teeth, the images from Schindler's List, of Jewish people being hurried down a cold, snowy street on a gray day, bundled up in heavy woolen coats and carrying brown suitcases...and I remembered the huge pile of suitcases later thrown on the floor of an empty building, as government agents rifled through the contents, stealing money, pajamas, books, pictures in costly frames, mostly-full containers of tooth powder...
...and I realized, it didn't matter what I could have fit in the bag or not, no matter how essential the items were. There was no guarantee I'd be able to keep any of it.
As much as my stomach tightens with fear (as I realize how much I lean on little things I think I need), I remember two things: no matter what, God will provide what I really need, and whatever horrors I can imagine, they will not last forever and they will inevitably end with me going home. For good.
And it lets me breathe deeply and... let go.