I had no idea I’d grown so attached. It’s just a building after all. An oldish, smallish one at that. A few bedrooms and a couple baths–one sporting a 16-year-old linoleum floor. Who falls in love with linoleum?

Well, I did. Maybe not so much the linoleum, but certainly the kitchen where my boys celebrated 16 years of birthdays and Christmases. I look at the now empty family room and remember staying up late to play games and the Friday movie-and-pizza nights. One glance out the back door and I see the stone patio (constructed lovingly by my husband) on which we held our annual summer spaghetti extravaganza, no silverware–or fingers!–allowed. Noodle and sauce remnants have long since fertilized the grass, but the toddler hand prints of my boys remain etched in one of the cement stones.

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Today I said goodbye to our family home. And when I drove away, leaving the hand prints behind, I think I left a piece of my heart as well. Will the new owners care for it like we did? Will their family fill it with as much laughter and love? Do they recognize the volume of "life" God brought us through in the years we lived there? Probably not. But I do. I remember enough for all of us, and my heart isn’t quite ready to let go. This is where my eyes can’t help but fill…Though I love my new house and admire my husbands amazing renovation, it’s still only a house. The walls do not yet contain enough memories to make it a home. And so I feel like a stranger in an unfamiliar building that isn’t mine.

"By faith Abraham, when called to go to a place he would later receive as his inheritance, obeyed and went, even though he did not know where he was going. By faith he made his home in the promised land like a stranger in a foreign country; he lived in tents as Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. For he was looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God." Hebrews 11:8-10

These words kept coming back to me again and again today. For whatever reason, Troy and I believe God has something going on with this move. Don’t have a clue as to what it’s all about, but know there is a weaving of circumstance which is completely beyond us. So we packed up and said goodbye to all we’ve known with wet eyes glued to the only One who knows where we’re going.

I’m ready to go home. My heart aches and long to feel like I’m in that comfortable place where living feels "right" and "secure". Can you relate? Unfortunately, the "coming home feeling" may or may not come. More moves or change may be on the horizon. Our only guarantee is one final transition…to a home where streets are paved with gold and angels sing "Holy, Holy, Holy!" to the Architect and Builder of it all. It is a home where everything feels "right" and tears are not allowed or even remembered.

Hallelujah. I’m ready to go home.

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