As the days grow short in this old house it seems as if memories lurk in every corner, awaiting the moment that I least expect them to show themselves. A simple walk up the front steps floods my mind with those forgotten days when the smell of lumber hung fresh in the air, and the bricks were but a pile in the unused driveway. The future so unknown. We were to select a front door, carpet, tile, granite, appliances, and paint colors for this, our soon to be built house. So many choices. Scared, as always, of making the wrong one.
Rejoicing the day that all was finished, papers were signed, friends came to help. Then settling in, the making of a home. Trying, failing, learning, trying again.
Each room holds many stories. Their shadowy remains promise to stay with me always. To write them down fails to do them justice, but like so many before me, I must write to make them real. To set them into my mind in some tangible way. To “taste life twice” as some have said. In case that promise doesn’t hold. In case I forget…
The living room. So many sweet times with friends and family. On the couch watching football games with friends, cuddling with my love, wrestling with little ones. The oldest with Legos in the floor. The middle one a toddler, chasing a balloon, tumbling down the wooden steps, narrowly avoiding a trip to the hospital. The youngest learning to crawl, and later to walk. Little ones opening birthday gifts. Small group with precious people. Christmas mornings. Easter pictures in front of the fireplace.
The kitchen. This, the center of my home in so many ways, where so much time has been spent. Many meals shared with dear friends. Baking with children. Science experiments. Art projects. Lessons learned. The table, a wedding gift from my now deceased grandmother. Long, wonderful talks with my love. Confessions made. Forgiveness granted. Decisions finalized.
My bedroom. Laboring for hours with my youngest, then barely making it to the hospital. Cuddling and nursing a sweet newborn. Long, sleepless nights caring for sick ones. Tender times with my love.
The little ones’ bedroom. Watching a crib change into a toddler bed, then a twin bed. Then watching it happen all over again. Sweet talks with a precious little girl. Playing dress up. Hours of reading my favorite books aloud.
The bedroom of the oldest. Figuring out how to make it look like space, and almost succeeding. Little boy learning how to be a man. Talking, reading, creating. Tears, disappointment, forgiveness. Growth.
The back porch. Blowing bubbles. Cutting watermelons. Eating crawfish and chatting with friends. Watching the seasons change. Early morning alone time.
The back yard. Sitting on that glorious porch swing. Grilling. Children running, climbing, swinging, sprinkler play. Gardening. The swingset that took most of our first summer here to build. That bare spot in the grass where we always boil the crawfish. Much time with friends. Playing in the snow, rain, sunshine. Jumping in piles of autumn leaves. Most recently watching storms roll in and debris fall from the sky.
Seven years here in this house. Watching children grow taller, my marriage grow stronger. Painting and repainting. Good days and bad days. Failures and triumphs. Making messes and cleaning them up. I realize that calling this an “old house” is perhaps a misnomer. Seven years may not be a great span of time for most. However, growing up on the move, bouncing from military bases to trailer parks to the projects does something to a child’s sense of time and stability. Seven years is the lengthiest period I’ve spent in one place, ever. Bitterness about growing up without a “home” has given way to realizing that there are also many memories in these places, despite their varied locations, and that these places were written into the story before my journey had even begun.
In these many remembrances, sadness and joy reside harmoniously. I had mistakenly begun to think that this house was the keeper of the memories.They’re all mingled together, the memories, the sadness and joy, the wood and paint. But I now realize that the people who have passed through are the real treasures of those memories, not the brick and mortar. My sweet Father has brought a wealth of people through these doors, allowing my life to be that much richer, and teaching me the wonders of His creation in more ways than I ever could have imagined. In His sovereignty He knew that those who crossed my path were preparing me for what was to come, and I am all the more thankful to Him for this marvelous accomplishment. Even those who are no longer a part of my life have left a mark on my soul and I am changed because of them.
Therefore, when papers were signed on Monday of this week, I didn’t quite feel the sting I had anticipated. My signature, giving over this property for which we’ve worked so hard over these last years, didn’t stare up at me with the expected ugliness. Rather, I felt a peace that was incomprehensible. The peace of finally understanding what home is and what it is not. The serenity that emerges when the right choice has been made, despite adversity. The contentment of knowing that God, in all His power and might, has me firmly in His grasp. And that He alone will be glorified.
The heart of man plans his way,but the LORD establishes his steps.
Proverbs 16:9
Sanders Party of Five 