Eighteen

Two years ago I quit my job.  I wanted to get away from off-price retail for a while.  I wanted to spend more time with my son and wife.  I wanted to try to do my own business of some sort.  And I really wanted to step out in faith and trust God for our needs.

So how did all of that work out?  Well, it has been two years and I am ready to start a new phase of life, trust, and adventure. Since October, we have been commuting to our little coastal church every weekend.  And after taking July off, we are about to embark on a new season of ministry and move there to pastor full time.

As exciting as that may be, and as much as I am anticipating serving there, a reality is nagging at me.  And it is my house.  Our house.  For almost six years, my lovely T. and I have lived here as husband and wife.  And as she would say, she has spent that time re-doing the place and decorating the place and it was just starting to come together the way that she was enjoying.  So I know it will be a little strange for her to leave it and move in to a new place, a new town, a new environment, and, even though we have been there for a bit, a new church.

For me, this house and I go back a little longer, eighteen years in fact.  And as we are getting ready to move there is both excitement and trepidation.  First, moving is hard.  Physically.  There are a lot of things to pack.  Over the years it seems like “stuff” keeps accumulating.  Eighteen years of “stuff”.  Not only “stuff”, but life as well.  Eighteen years worth.

This house is the longest place I have ever called home in my life.  Many things have happened here.  This house has seen a lot.  I am glad the walls can’t talk, but here is what this house has witnessed.

The removal of 70’s style orange shag carpets with just a Leatherman.   The sanding and staining of hardwood floors.  Twice.  A new roof.  Twice.  Wallpaper up and wallpaper down.  A red wall in the front room and a yellow wall in the kitchen.  The remodeling of a bathroom and a guest room.  A wall put up for my studio.

Apple and apple juice.  Grapes and grape juice.  66 rose bushes and the removal of 66 rose bushes.  Dogs, cats, a bass fish, and a rooster.  Saturn cars, Ford Ranger trucks, new Ford Focus, new Honda Civic, new Audi A3, Honda CRV, and Nissan Altima.  Plus a Mustang II, and other sundry vehicles, both running and not.

This house has witnessed three children grow up into adulthood, three children married and three grandchildren.  And one on the way. 

And the sudden death of my wife. And months of a sad and lonely man. 

And God’s grace and redemption for that sad and lonely man in finding true love with my precious T.  Our marriage almost six years ago.  New curtains, brightly colored walls.  And a nursery. 

A tough pregnancy and emergency surgery.   My beloved, ten minutes away from dying. A doctor who saved my wife’s life, and the life of my little boy.  Born two months early and three pounds.  And his near death twice during the first week of his life. 

And now he’s a loud, energetic and lap running four year old.  And she’s my wife for the rest of my days.  Laughter, love, comfortable and grateful.  Friends.

Bible studies, prayers, rejoicing and weeping.  All in the name of Jesus.  Oh yeah, and He has been here.  The whole time.  Eighteen years.  This was His house.  He used it and its occupants the way He wanted.  There are a lot of memories here.  There is a lot I am going to miss.  I love this house.  It was my home.

And as we are packing up and getting ready to move to the coast to a new place, I can’t help but become a television show in its final episode, with one last look before I turn out the light and close the door.  Thanks.

Eighteen years.  That’s a long time.  I have more packing to do.  And I need to get ready for the next eighteen years.