A weekly blog about relationships, belief, and personal growth, written from a position of hope.
On a Saturday morning Lacie suggested we go look at a house. Saturday night we were under contract. The following Monday our current home was listed. Monday night we were under contract to sell. Needless to say, a lot can change very quickly. The excitement from making a transaction like this happen as fast as it did delayed the sentimental feelings I knew would eventually come and have now arrived.
The phrase "if these walls could talk" especially intrigues me when referring to older homes like our 1935 farmhouse. In the last eighty-two years the home, the surrounding property, and the people living here have changed dramatically. I imagine each season and chapter as uniquely different but similar in many ways.
Even as I write now, I wonder if some other man sat in this spot and journaled by candlelight, wondering how the Second World War would end, fretting about the season's crops and things we don't worry about today. In the same session, though, did he think about the very same things we all work through in our heads and hearts? Career aspirations, insecurities, family challenges, death, failure, success, relationship dynamics...
If these walls could talk, we would have a litany of stories, and there would likely be a best seller somewhere in the mix. But what would these walls say about the last two years Lacie and I have lived here? Eighty-two years from now, if these walls still stand, and the words of this post survive, what should be said?
Chase and Lacie loved this home. It was their first and one they will never forget. They made it their own, and it was not without work. It was a great investment, not just financially but spiritually and emotionally. They made it better, and it made them better. It was the backdrop for the early years of their marriage, a refuge during difficult times, a place of rest and fellowship. Full of animals and no shortage of joy, it became a timeless monument in their hearts to hard work, commitment, perseverance, and peace.
I will miss this place. There is absolutely no doubt about it, even as grateful as I am for a new season in a new place we will now call home.
You haven't missed your calling
From where I sit in this hospital waiting room
Accept the invitation to live
The lighted window
It was worth it
The subtle sounds of a life together
Made for the now-what
When holidays are hard
Sharing in our suffering
To my doubting friend
Ten years down the road
How long, Lord?
A season of doubt