Windows and Walls

The moving van pulled away from my house two nights ago full of all our worldly possessions. It left a day earlier than expected, so I was caught by surprise. I spent all day cleaning and scrubbing as the very hard-working loading guys finished clearing each room,then I signed 29 pages of paperwork. Suddenly I was left standing alone in the house that has been my home for almost 14 years. The only things left were my suitcases for the trip to Chicago and a few items on the kitchen counter. I was reminded of an old Dan Fogelberg song called Windows and Walls about a woman who lives alone with her memories. “Now all that she’s left are these memories and windows and walls, windows and walls”…

My mind was suddenly filled with visual “pictures” of our family celebrating birthdays and Christmas, all the action that took place in the family room, and all the meals I prepared in the kitchen. I used to complain that we needed to upgrade some faucets and that our laundry room was SO small, but in my heart I know that this house has served our family well. I felt a bit like Mary in Luke 2:19 “But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart."

As I walked through each room saying goodbye I probably sounded like the child in Goodnight Moon. Tears were flowing and I was grateful to have a friend out in the driveway to hug and remind me that it’s just a house… I know that the past six homes I’ve lived in with Mike and the new one we're headed to are all just temporary and that my permanent address is in Heaven- but fourteen years is a long time, and our four children did most of their growing up in 4510 77th Avenue Court...

Now it’s time for me to look ahead. I need to focus on the new adventure before us and rest in the assurance that God has a good plan for our family. I have a big bridge to cross (literally) that will take us away from our little harbor town toward the airport. I hope I can keep my eyes on the future and know that all my memories and friends are tucked in my heart. Whoever first said the idiom, “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it” must have moved away from Gig Harbor!
Here I go!...

In His Grip,
Jane