Freedom and Grief

We handed over the keys of our house. Our beautiful, old, first house that we had ten wonderful years in. The kids and I went back one evening this week. It was empty and our voices echoed off the hardwood floors as we dusted and mopped together. It ended up being a time of laughter, fun, and of the kids good-naturedly arguing over who got to mop where and digging in and helping me cross the finish line of turning over our home to it's future owners. But even in the sweetness, there was deep grief. Like when I walked past Jakin's room and found him kneeling on the carpet in the corner, gazing out of the window that he had looked out each morning, tears rolling down his face. His steadfast 10 year old heart was deeply hurting over knowing that view would no longer be what he woke up too. I scooped him up and held his long-legged body while he just cried. We talked about his favorite moments in that house and reminisced and relived some sweet memories. It was hard and good and healing. And I got to let him in to my grief and share the place I would miss most. 

My porch swing, made for me by my incredibly gifted Father-in-law. My absolute favorite spot of our home. The countless hours spent there with friends, talking through this crazy thing called motherhood, and the joys and struggles we faced daily. The mornings spent there in God's Word. The countless cups of coffee or chocolate milk on long-run mornings. The snuggled conversations with my kids, hearing their hearts and the details of their little lives. The days I would drive up and find women just sitting there, waiting to chat. The crazy number of books I enjoyed reading, rocking back and forth. The cool early mornings when one kiddo would wrap up in a blanket and sneak out and just rock next to me. It was my place. And I grieve leaving it. 

But God is showing me that home is not really about place. Home is where His work for us is. Home is where he wants us. Amazingly, we've only been in our new home less than a week, and it feels shockingly homey already. Because he went before us. He provided a cozy little corner back on the campus we love so much. We had a spectacular time at JBU as students and we get to spend our last few months here before we leave.... letting our kids rollerblade on the sidewalks, run through the woods, play on the tennis courts and create sweet memories in a setting we love so much.

It's hard leaving the house that you brought babies home too. Where we worked at and fought hard for our marriage in those early years when diapers and toddlers tried to overtake us. Where we cared for countless children and had so many little feet running through our daily lives, blessing us with their little personalities and friendship. Where we had a beautiful boxer named Quincy, who wiggled his way so deeply into our hearts. Where our kids learned to ride their bikes, and laughed and cried over our uber-competitive family kickball games in the street. (The girls are in the lead, just in case you were keeping score...) And I know this move is much easier than ones to come because despite moving locations, we still have our same community. Our amazing friends and family who bless us and who aren't afraid to love us deeply and live with us daily even though they know a goodbye is coming soon. I can hardly even think about that... 

But despite the grief, there is an incredible freedom in knowing that we have fewer physical ties holding us here. Fewer possessions that make it hard for our hearts to let go. We are becoming more and more free to go wherever God calls us. Soon, that will be Kenya. He is going before us, providing just the spot for us to land and create a home for as long as he wants us there. And if he calls us somewhere else, He will go before us again.... he keeps reminding me, home is not a place. Home is where God's work is. And there is so much freedom in that.