When Steve’s grandpa Lind passed away, Grandma Jo started giving away all his belongings within a week. All his clothes, books, etc.
I asked her if she felt like it was too soon and gently suggested she might want to hold on to some things for a little while longer. She looked at me totally convinced and said:
“My memories of Hugh are not tied to his stuff.”
That lesson has served me well through times of grief, the KonMari method of cleaning out my closets and today it comforts the bittersweet final goodbye to a home well loved.
A home where we broke bread with people around a table made just for us.
Where several young couples sat on our couch, sharing their dreams of marriage and talking through the preparation for all of it.
A home with a dry and desolate land of a back yard where relationships bloomed and the best talks happened around a fire served with s’mores.
Where loving and skilled hands built more space for our growing family making the attic the best room in the house.
Where two babies of the four were brought home to complete our family.
Where two foster kids were brought in until their forever family found them.
Where Easter Eggs were hidden and hunted for along with Heineken for the grown ups.
This house was home not because of how lovely it was but because of the lovely people who came through its doors.
A new friend who experienced a similar road recently said she has discovered “our home is Jesus and a house is simply his provision.”
I’ve been struggling with this because as true as it is, my heart’s desire is to have a home here on earth that is spacious enough for my tribe and the people to share life with. A place where I can put down roots and make it my own. While we have this beautiful rental now, it isn’t ours. But here’s the thing… nothing is really ours and everything, including our dreams need to be held loosely so God can take them and show us what is beyond what we can ask or imagine. Honestly, this is requiring my faith muscles to be built up in ways that make me sore at times because this whole journey has been about seeing the divine in the day to day and God doing great things with prayers answered differently than I pictured in my finite mind. Surely His ways are not our ways and grace is found in the most unlikely places.
What I’m learning about all of this is even when we uproot and go, even when we say goodbye to what was and look forward to what is next, our roots remain in these.
Faith God brought us here to this place without the road being fully clear. Faith he is with us and will never leave us. Hope there is much more and the best days are in front of us. Hope that no matter where we are, we always have Jesus. And the greatest of these is love. We were loved well and loved others well in that little house in San Pedro.
I am confident of this.
The memories I have are not tied to the house itself but to the love that took place in words and deed. In the gatherings in the kitchen where over 3000 dinners were made sometimes with the help of a grill so well worn it didn’t make the journey to Nashville. My memories will always be tied to the people who are still our people and to the God we can point to when we say… look at what He did.