Pack Master

Thursday night we got home close to eleven after dinner out with friends. Though we had been packing all day, Byron's pack fever was running high and he went straight into hauling things out to the bins down on the street. He was carrying out our bedside table to the designated give-away spot by the dumpster where we found it years ago in the first place.

But I was in the living room with Nelly. There she was with her belongings strewn from one end of the room to the other, a look of desperation on her face. Jenelle has been here three years. But Thursday night was her final one in Portugal. She's in the States now, getting ready for the next venture in following God.

There was too much stuff to fit into her bags. Moving with what you can take on a plane is always a challenge.

"I need a strategy," she kind of whimpered.

I looked at the bits and pieces of her material life and said, "You need Pack Master!"

So Byron's fervor was focused onto Nelly's goods and the fact that they needed to be on a plane in a few short hours. For the next couple of hours he dazzled Jenelle with his energy and brilliance as the king of all packers.

We took Miss Nelly to the plane Friday morning at dawn. The contents of her world were cleverly squeezed into Byron's amazing carry-all black duffel bags. He asked the man at the BA counter to please wave one bag and though the guy was a bit taken aback by this bold request, he did allow one big honker to go free.

Nelly and her stuff got to Baltimore safe and sound. She wrote to say her parents were in awe of the pack job.

I wasn't surprised at all. The boy is no stranger to this task. When it comes to packing, no one else even comes close.