we have been living in our current house for almost two years. we moved here the summer when etta mae had just turned one. the circumstances of our arrival into this home are a story of God's faithfulness and intimate knowledge of our needs; a knowledge of our needs that we did not even remotely understand. i wrote about our first few weeks in this house here .
a few weeks ago we found out that we would have to leave this dear house. and as the news hit me, it initially wrecked me. and then, as all of us who truly abide in the steadfastness of Christ must, i attempted to adjust my thinking and realize that God was, as he always does, tenderly steering our lives in an unexpected direction for our good, and his glory. and as my heart started to shift, i began reflecting on all the things that have happened here. all the ways we have grown in this house.
i recently took shots of the house so i would remember each room in its very best form.
this house welcomed baby ivy ann. in this house where we hosted countless rwandan family and friends for countless weeks and months. we've had children running in and around a trillion times over. dirty footprints have covered the porch and floor and sometimes the walls. we've had birthday parties and talent shows and holidays and impromptu dinners with whoever happened to be around. i have watched the children of my dearest friends grow friendships with my kids. new friendships have begun and been fostered and grown deep roots here.
this house, where my girls have learned to observe nature close up, where they have learned boundaries for outdoor safety and existed happily within them. the red bud tree branches around which eden's long legs can so often be found. the dear willow oak that supports the most perfect tree swing. the extensive bird life that has captured our hearts and attention. the squirrels who perch just outside the window and seem to be listening when i read aloud.
this house has shaped me immeasurably as a mother. we started home education in this house, and so i became a teacher in a new way here. and God grew a vastly more profound sense of wonder in me as i observed his created world from the end of our lovely street, surrounded by woods.
and oh how we loved our neighbors. some of our dearest friends live a few blocks over. we have ridden bikes and made desperate attempts to soak up every bit of daylight together. we have sledded until soaking wet in winter and played outside until the darkness and the mosquitoes chased us in in the summer. we have swapped kids for a million reasons a million times. and eaten countless meals. and we will never in all our lives have neighbors who we love more dearly.
and we have enjoyed the blessing of some of the most dear, thoughtful, friendly new neighbor friends as well. the one who leaves huge bags of seasonal produce on our porch and always has a friendly smile for my girls. the one who ties bows around branches with butterfly chrysalis on them so my girls can find them easily, teaches me more than i have ever known about native plants and flowers (and who gives profoundly generous gifts). the one who walks by with her dog and always makes time to chat.
we are excited about where we are going, but that is another post for another time. for now i am looking back and taking it all in because once its gone, this season is over. and i am just really going to miss it. and even though there is great joy ahead, i would not be honest if i did not say that i am mourning the loss of this quiet little house at the end of this quiet street.
a few weeks ago we found out that we would have to leave this dear house. and as the news hit me, it initially wrecked me. and then, as all of us who truly abide in the steadfastness of Christ must, i attempted to adjust my thinking and realize that God was, as he always does, tenderly steering our lives in an unexpected direction for our good, and his glory. and as my heart started to shift, i began reflecting on all the things that have happened here. all the ways we have grown in this house.
i recently took shots of the house so i would remember each room in its very best form.
this house, where my girls have learned to observe nature close up, where they have learned boundaries for outdoor safety and existed happily within them. the red bud tree branches around which eden's long legs can so often be found. the dear willow oak that supports the most perfect tree swing. the extensive bird life that has captured our hearts and attention. the squirrels who perch just outside the window and seem to be listening when i read aloud.
this house has shaped me immeasurably as a mother. we started home education in this house, and so i became a teacher in a new way here. and God grew a vastly more profound sense of wonder in me as i observed his created world from the end of our lovely street, surrounded by woods.
and oh how we loved our neighbors. some of our dearest friends live a few blocks over. we have ridden bikes and made desperate attempts to soak up every bit of daylight together. we have sledded until soaking wet in winter and played outside until the darkness and the mosquitoes chased us in in the summer. we have swapped kids for a million reasons a million times. and eaten countless meals. and we will never in all our lives have neighbors who we love more dearly.
and we have enjoyed the blessing of some of the most dear, thoughtful, friendly new neighbor friends as well. the one who leaves huge bags of seasonal produce on our porch and always has a friendly smile for my girls. the one who ties bows around branches with butterfly chrysalis on them so my girls can find them easily, teaches me more than i have ever known about native plants and flowers (and who gives profoundly generous gifts). the one who walks by with her dog and always makes time to chat.
we are excited about where we are going, but that is another post for another time. for now i am looking back and taking it all in because once its gone, this season is over. and i am just really going to miss it. and even though there is great joy ahead, i would not be honest if i did not say that i am mourning the loss of this quiet little house at the end of this quiet street.
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