Moving
There is a softness to this house that I will miss probably most of all. The way the light comes through the windows in the mornings, and the view of the green space and tall trees behind our back deck. The way the colors all have matched so perfectly - the wood grain, the paint, the trim, the light over all of it... permeating day after day for almost four years.
And I'll miss the birds. During the early sleepless hours of the morning, it's true that I've despised them - but there were also days when I woke up with anxieties in my heart that crumbled during their songs. Hanging onto the branches as I've hung onto God's goodness, morning after morning... their song from these trees has been a hymn I won't forget.
That special place on the staircase landing, where we both first knew this was the house for us. That same special place where I've paused so many times since then in prayer and thanksgiving. Where I've paused to cry out His name, missing my brother so much I can't breathe.
This house has been washed in rain and snow, prayer and tears. It's been lit up with excitement and silliness, love, anger, passion and conviction. Filled to the brim, overflowing, and empty... in this house, I've experienced them all.
It will all come with me wherever I go, and the things that make a house a home will very soon find their place to settle down and rest once again...
But I believe that God cares about the way we leave things - and I believe that He entrusts us with things that are dear, to teach us how to cherish. He designed us with hearts capable of valuing places of refuge and sanctuary - and I believe that the way we say our goodbyes matters. It's a raising of an ebenezer, a remembrance of all He has done... like transforming a house into a home. The same way He will begin to transform our new house in two days, when we get there. Every hour, every day, waking our hearts to Him through small things like light on wood-grain and perfectly matching colors.
And the same way He always goes before us, is the way He will do it once again.
In a new beautiful house, on a new pretty street, in a new neighborhood and zip code. And we'll hang our pictures on the perfect bare walls and give Him thanks once again... because He's always gone before us.
And He is already there.
And I'll miss the birds. During the early sleepless hours of the morning, it's true that I've despised them - but there were also days when I woke up with anxieties in my heart that crumbled during their songs. Hanging onto the branches as I've hung onto God's goodness, morning after morning... their song from these trees has been a hymn I won't forget.
That special place on the staircase landing, where we both first knew this was the house for us. That same special place where I've paused so many times since then in prayer and thanksgiving. Where I've paused to cry out His name, missing my brother so much I can't breathe.
This house has been washed in rain and snow, prayer and tears. It's been lit up with excitement and silliness, love, anger, passion and conviction. Filled to the brim, overflowing, and empty... in this house, I've experienced them all.
It will all come with me wherever I go, and the things that make a house a home will very soon find their place to settle down and rest once again...
But I believe that God cares about the way we leave things - and I believe that He entrusts us with things that are dear, to teach us how to cherish. He designed us with hearts capable of valuing places of refuge and sanctuary - and I believe that the way we say our goodbyes matters. It's a raising of an ebenezer, a remembrance of all He has done... like transforming a house into a home. The same way He will begin to transform our new house in two days, when we get there. Every hour, every day, waking our hearts to Him through small things like light on wood-grain and perfectly matching colors.
And the same way He always goes before us, is the way He will do it once again.
In a new beautiful house, on a new pretty street, in a new neighborhood and zip code. And we'll hang our pictures on the perfect bare walls and give Him thanks once again... because He's always gone before us.
And He is already there.
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