Remember

So, I suppose now I am beginning to feel a bit nostalgic. While I am about to burst with the anticipation of moving into my new house, I am also finding myself looking about my present home with a bit of sadness. Sitting in the sunroom this morning, enjoying the morning light coming through the treetops...watching squirrels run and play as if it were their own personal playground, and hummingbirds sipping from the feeder with wings fluttering so fast I can't catch sight of them....well, it feels bittersweet. In this room I have often watched my daughter play on her swingset, now used as a perch for the birds, abandoned for ipods and CDs and computer games. The tire swing, rehung on the day we moved in sways gently in the wind, no worse for the wear. In a small patch of sunlight just inside the woods two well-loved dogs are at rest. Snuggles, my dog of eighteen years whom I had long before my husband or my daughter...faithful companion her whole life...and Gabby whom we only had the joy of knowing for six short months...part jack russell, all energy... who left us much too soon. Looking up I see great, tall trees....trees that have grown to great heights but lack the strength to stand up in the fall and spring winds. Looking up at those trees reminds me of one Sunday afternoon when I came home from church and found that the top of one of those trees had broken off and landed square in the middle of my bed. There it stood that Sunday afternoon like a bedroom in some mythical forest, only with laundry in the corner and mismatched sheets. In that bedroom there remains the mark...a square of drywall, never painted over that I have threatened through the years to paint like a skylight.

When I asked Moriah yesterday what she would miss the most when we move, she answered without hesitation. "The memories," she said with a thoughtful look on her face. We shared a laugh, remembering our move here and how she cried nightly for what she had left behind. "I miss my red door! I miss my red tree!" she would cry out between sobs. Now, rather than tangible things she can put her hand on and touch, she will miss things that she can keep in her heart. It will be the Christmas tree standing boldly in the front window with what I suspect were far more white twinkling lights than the 1950's electrical outlet was made to support, eight birthdays shared with little girls whose milestones could be marked with the birthday party pictures across the years..now young ladies who look forward to helping Moriah design her new room, lost teeth, and more. These are the things we will miss.

Here I worked on my first quilt, made my first coconut pie, and went back to school in the comfort of my own living room. We have cried for our losses and rejoiced in our victories, and watched our child become a Christian and grow into the young lady she is today. We have opened God's Word and found words there that have been the foundation of our lives. This has been our home. We have prayed together and watched our prayers be answered and sought for answers when God had another plan.

I remember the day that I pulled into the driveway for the first time with my best friend since childhood and our children in tow. The gray cottage-looking house with paned-glass windows (with a red door, I might add) was just the kind of house I loved. My dear friend took in a deep breath of wonder and said, "Tami, this is your house!" And it was. It is not a perfect house. It has smudges on the walls and water spots on the ceiling. It doesn't always heat and cool evenly and it is a bit too close to the fire station (except when we have all those twinkling lights plugged into too few sockets).

Sitting here with my mug of coffee long grown cold, I realize the truth...the memories are not here in this house, they are in our hearts. Everything that has happened within these walls has a place where it resides within us to look back on, hold on to, and remember.

This is just what God called upon the Israelites to do when they crossed the River Jordan. He reminded them again and again to remember because He knew what we mostly do is forget. He reminded them to tell their children and allow all the memories to be a monument to the faithfulness of God...and to remember....always to remember.

While both this house and the house we will soon call home are gifts from God, it seems that the real gift is the memories we will carry with us....memories to remind us who we are and Who He is and that the true contentment of home is found in that place where His heart reaches out and touches ours.