OUR HOME

    It was late and we were exhausted, a year ago exactly. November 30, 2012.  I was at the top of the second story of our home, close to Samantha's room. I paused to look around and suddenly an enormous flood of memories saturated my mind.  I felt as if I was watching a home video, so silently I watched. The house was cold extracted form its personal belongings and voices of laughter, shouts of nagging kids, and tip toes to peek over to see the Christmas tree.

Slowly, I drug myself to each room,  looked inside watched the memories like an instant replay, and shut the light out. Room by room I continued this exercise. Tears streamed down my face. I refused to wipe them away, it was like a bath for my soul. It felt cleansing and surreal all at once.  Everett's room where  the kids would spend hours building towns out of Lincoln logs on the beautiful Ash floors. Katie's butter cream yellow walls, and all the times she told me how she wished they were lavender, and the dolls who were dressed up and taken to a magical place. Peeking into Sam's room, I envisioned her on her big white poster bed, reading a book lost in another world. The vacant hall outside the room, where a kiss on the cheek was stolen. 

   Our kitchen where meals were made with my dear friends and family, the warm red dining room filled with laughter and stories never heard. Glancing over I smiled at the grand fireplace and envisioned the stockings and the time Santa left footprints on the hearth in the ashes from the ever burning fire. Chickens brought into the kitchen daily by Katie and the ancient upright piano Sammi happily played in the sun room. The kitchens frequent smell of the latest cupcakes, Everett proudly contrived. Endless mountains of  fresh multicolored eggs resting by the sink ready for a rinse, and the spacious Chopping block where hundreds of jars of jam and pickles were filled by eager 4-H kids. 

 

The parties, the memories, the friends and the family that entered the doors, loved us challenged us and shaped us. Form the moment we moved into the home, I felt God whisper. He told me that there would be no shortage of visitors and love here.  I would have never imagined us leaving here, or the road ahead.  What a huge reminder that, our lives are not our own. That what we think is our path, usually is not. It was our home but as I closed each door I, reminded myself firmly it was walls. Home really is where you make it, cliche as it sounds and this home did not define who we were. It was a gift from God and now it was time to let it go, and embrace a new chapter.