Home: There Abide

I feel like people are so casual when they mention that they are moving, or have moved.
At least up until now, I have only ever taken that information casually.

"Oh, you just moved? Huh."

And on I went with my life.

Well, we just moved. And I feel like it was anything but casual. It did not feel small. Or normal. Or run-of-the-mill.

Moving felt difficult.
Well, maybe not for the children.

But for the adults, yes!

Moving felt stressful.

Moving felt like I gained some stretch-marks on my heart.

And we even moved for a good reason.
Ammon is going to Optometry school!

And we even moved to a beautiful part of the country.
Oregon!

Yet, it still aches a little.
I suppose that only makes sense when so much good history is wrapped up in where you have been.

We loved our home of six-years. San Tan Valley was good to us.

Our last night with access to that house, we had one last Family Home Evening. We sat in our empty house and talked about how blessed we had been during our years within those walls. We shared some favorite memories. Then the kids ran throughout the house saying good-bye to every room and we followed suit, tears flowing freely.

Others might have just seen a front-room.

But we saw Family Home Evenings, and piano jam sessions, and Easter egg hunts, and Santa letters, and moments of stillness and peace.

And it was more than a living room.

It was our children's first steps, and play-dates, and where we lay when we were sick. This was Christmas mornings and spontaneous dance parties. Where we relaxed as just us.

And it's not just a kitchen.

It's Halloween cookies and birthday pancakes. It's teaching our kids how to eat. It's trying new things and the center of creativity and crafting. It's endless dishes and messes tied to endless memories.

The loft. Or some might call it a bonus room.

Well, bonus! We made a lot of memories in this room too. This was homeschool-preschool. This was video games and movies. This was the toy room.

And perhaps with it empty like it was on our last day, someone else may have seen just ordinary bedrooms and bathrooms.

But they were not ordinary. They were extraordinary.
Filled with imagination and play. With whispered prayers, lively stories and the sweetest goodnight kisses. Extraordinary morning smiles and extraordinary nighttime dreams.

And sure, this might seem like an average backyard.

But every inch of it was cultivated with love by our own hands.
This is the space that inspired Ammon's horticulture degree. That motivated him to start a gardening business.
This was where we planted and picked our own peaches, blackberries, almonds, plums and grapes.
This was also the space of bubbles and water tables and sprinklers.
This was where we did sparklers on the 4th of July and treasure hunts in the Week of Love.
This is where Clark hit his first tee-ball and the girls saw their first baby birds hatch.
What seems like an average backyard was our own miniature paradise.

So you can see how this is not just a house.

It was our home.

A sacred space to our family.

And it was hard to say good-bye.

But good-bye we said.

And now here we are in Oregon. Some 1300 miles from home.

In a different house.

And for now, it still seems just that - a house. A bit smaller and a bit older and a bit more pricey.

The other morning I sat out on our back porch with some of these memories and thoughts rolling through my soul and as I read some scriptures, I came across this verse in Mark, Chapter Six:

"And he said unto them, In what place soever ye enter into an house, there abide till ye depart from that place."

That is my plan. To abide here. To thrive here.

Day-by-day, and unpacked-box by unpacked-box this house feels more like home. 

And there will still be Christmas mornings and birthday pancakes. There will still be children's laughter in the bedroom and dirty dishes in the sink. There will be memories that only these walls get to hold.

And though it seems far away, three or four years will go by real quick.

And by that time, I'm sure this will not be "just a house" anymore and we will once again wet our faces with our tears as we drive away.