finding home

We are moving.

In a week.

To say that my brain is struggling to wrap around this idea is a bit of an understatement.

My childhood in the military would lead one to think that a transition such as this would be easy for me. I know the fine art of packed boxes and labels- what goes where and how; I know how much is too much and when to let it all go, out to the curb, to bless another family. I know all this. I even know how to do it alone, as my mother has done with countless moves–a reality with the month of March being the busiest month of the entire year for the business, and everyone required to work weekends. Moving, in and of itself, is not especially difficult.

Finding home…that’s the difficult part. It’s what makes it hard to watch a wee little dress pass through your hands, remembering the sweet little legs and arms that fit through it, countless times, now grown so small it fits her favorite baby doll. It’s breaking the crib down, realizing that you might never pass this way again. It is looking at four walls, one roof, doors and windows, and seeing so much more. Whispered confidences, daring prayers. Songs and songs and words upon words, every night, tucking one child after another in to downy warmth and sweetest dreams.

It is where you were brought low, built up, released and renewed.

And while you know that it is time, the walls grown close, the square footage crowded with the needs of five growing pairs of feet, you find yourself staring off, wondering if you will ever find home again.

For a home is not made of timber and mud, but of heart and sinew and love, and the physical things remind us of that. A random dress would mean nothing to another, but to me is priceless for the daring princess girl who filled its folds. And the difficult part of moving is always- wondering, hoping, remembering. With the physical exertion of lifted box, we lift memory too.

It is time, I know. But this sweet tiny house will always be my House of Dreams– it was where my life as mama and wife began, where I began to learn the gentle art of becoming woman, little girl no longer.

I’ll even miss the way the washer likes to eat infant socks and nursing camisoles, I swear. The strange trill that the refrigerator has always made. The funky whoosh of sound that shuddered through the house when the HVAC turned on. The mountain view. But mostly I’ll miss knowing that no more toddlers will learn to walk down the hallway perfect for leaning on as unsteady feet gambol about, for the laughter and joyful chaos often ringing in the rafters of the ceiling, for the many late nights of prayer and learning, nursing wee ones while I rest in the arms of the Father.

This is my little signpost, my Ebenezer. I am taking the moment to grieve and yet find joy in the excitement and change. We will find home again, I know it- for home is made of heart, and hand, and love, and faith- and these we have in abundance, no matter our physical location.

Love you, little white house with blue shutters. Thank you for the time we have spent within your walls.

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...
Finding Home…

8 thoughts on “Finding Home…

  • February 23, 2010 at 6:40 pm
    Permalink

    you have expressed, very well, a lot of the real emotions that come with moving.

    Reply
  • February 23, 2010 at 7:17 pm
    Permalink

    I do believe this is my favorite piece, of all the lovely things you’ve written here, dear Joy. I think you should print it off and leave it in the house for the new owners to find, and write them a blessing to go with it. They will appreciate the gesture, and know that a dear, lovely mom inhabited their sweet home.

    I’ll be praying for all of you!

    Reply
  • February 23, 2010 at 8:17 pm
    Permalink

    Hi Joy,
    I am a relative new comer to your blog. I just had to comment to say how beautiful your reflections of your home, your Ebenezer. Just as Samuel remembered how the Lord had helped him, I trust you are also remembering, “thus far the Lord has helped me” and drawing strength from the knowledge that His hand is upon you wherever you make your home.

    Reply
  • February 23, 2010 at 9:53 pm
    Permalink

    Transition… He calls us to it time and time again. Just because we know the mechanics and the ‘how’, it doesn’t stop the tugging of heartstrings. You have captured it well.

    Reply
  • February 24, 2010 at 7:53 pm
    Permalink

    You don’t have to look for home sweety….you’re already there!
    All those memories go with you on this “Grand Adventure”.

    Reply
  • February 25, 2010 at 4:55 pm
    Permalink

    This made Virginia Lee Burton’s “The Little House” book come to mind.

    Prayed yesterday for smooth transitions and peace of mind. Let’s hope you packed better then me. I am 4 weeks into our new place and still can’t find my roasting pan :o)

    Reply
  • February 27, 2010 at 2:52 pm
    Permalink

    Joy, this has to be my favorite post of yours. ( I might even have to quote you on my old moving scrapbook pages….when I get to them! Hang on to these words and pass them down to each of your kids. : )

    Reply
  • April 18, 2010 at 11:58 pm
    Permalink

    Hi Joy,
    I am a relative new comer to your blog. I just had to comment to say how beautiful your reflections of your home, your Ebenezer. Just as Samuel remembered how the Lord had helped him, I trust you are also remembering, “thus far the Lord has helped me” and drawing strength from the knowledge that His hand is upon you wherever you make your home.

    Reply

Tell me what's on your heart~