When it's time to say goodbye...

We have decided to rent our home. And although I know this isn't a final goodbye, we're pretty sure we'll never move back.

We knew this day was coming. In fact we planned for this day. We both knew the moment we resigned from our jobs that we would be leaving. Packing all our earthly belongings into cardboard boxes. And we knew it wouldn't be easy.

I love being home. A night spent on the couch watching a movie or falling asleep to rain sounds far better than anywhere else I could choose be. So letting go and saying goodbye to our house is difficult. Leaving everything that's familiar and venturing somewhere new is terrifying. And as much as I want to be excited for our future, I also want to mourn what we're leaving. To somehow let my soul rest. To give it a proper and deserving place in my heart.

It's hard, and it hurts. This is the house where I dreamed about our future. It's where I brought my babies home. It's the place where so many blood, sweat, and tears were shed. I planted those flowers. Weeded those garden beds. Planted that rose bush. It's where I found out I was pregnant with Emberly. I went into labor with Luke here and walked that hallway a million times as I cradled a sleeping baby. It's where I made bottles at 2am by refrigerator light and changed hundreds of diapers. We both recovered from surgeries here. I cried here. We ripped up floors and repainted walls. We talked about hard things here and made big life changing decisions within these four walls.

It's also where we laughedWe became a family here.

We made memories here. We were newlyweds here and celebrated anniversaries here. I rocked babies night after night after night as tiny eyelids fluttered to sleep. I snuck into rooms to watch and listen to little chests rise and fall. I kissed foreheads every night. It's where first steps were taken and first words were spoken. It will be the place Luke always remembers as his first home and the first place Sadie was allowed to run free and explore. It's where I sat on the back deck under a blanket, let the wisteria overcome my senses, and read countless books until it was too dark to see. I learned how to sew within these walls. I cooked countless meals here and invited dozens over to partake. Oh the memories of this home being filled with friends are some of my favorite nights. We had yard sales, birthday parties, and family gatherings. I took Deuteronomy 6:9 literally and wrote scripture on these door frames.

This was my safe haven... my shelter from the world.

Yet I know this: home isn't a house at all. Home is where we're together.

So we'll take the next step on this journey. A step I finally feel ready to make. Soon we'll call somewhere else home and we will make new memories there; the good and the bad. And I'm thankful I have this blog to reminisce about our life in days gone by.

We're thankful for the years we spent here. They were growing years. Years we will never get back. We made friends and built some pretty awesome relationships here. But there will be another place to call home, new friends to meet and new memories to make.

Home. What is it really? Four walls and a roof with some doors and windows? or is it more?

I can't help but think of eternity and how this world isn't our home.
We're not supposed to be comfortable here. We're foreigners in a place that wasn't meant to last.

I'll never forget traveling to a third world country. We were on vacation, yet we saw the "third world" part just miles from the mainland. It was beautiful- but it was scary. I turned my diamond ring around and held my purse a little tighter. I was hyperaware of my surroundings. I never felt so relieved to be back on American soil. To slip beneath my own sheets; to wash my hair with familiar water. And as selfish as that sounds, that's how I feel about eternity. We're here only for a time. We should crave to be at our heavenly home.

Life is scary, and it's beautiful at the same time. It's nice to enjoy the moments while we're here: but then I remember that our life is just a vapor. A mist. A wisp of fog as The Message translates it {James 4:14}. A vapor- that five letter word usually used in science class to describe water molecules as a gas. A fog suspended or floating in the air.
It's hard to imagine that something that feels so permanent today is so fleeting. So temporary.

As I pack all my memories into boxes I'll keep that perspective. Stuff is just that... it's stuff. And it doesn't define me. I'll keep my eyes focused. I'll make somewhere else home; for now.

Lord, help me not forget this life and this world isn't our forever home.

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2 comments :

  1. Thank you so much for sharing! I can SOOO relate to everything you wrote. Sometimes this sadness of leaving my home is heavy...the memories, the familiarity, the comfort...and yet the reminder that our longings will one day be completely filled, and these feelings of homesickness are simply a picture if our hearts' cravings for our Eternal Home...thank you for the reminder!!! So much to be hopeful for!!

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  2. Awwww thank you for stopping by! I am always so encourage by your blog and knowing that we share our faith makes what you say even more practical. Can't wait to see where the Lord leads your precious family!

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