A Year of Change



We’re getting ready to move. Packing, organizing, getting rid of stuff we haven’t used in years, and all the other stuff that goes along with it. I often find myself wondering how long this place will continue to have something of us left in it after we leave.

Mainly my thoughts focus on hair and dust. How long will the cat or dog hair last in the carpet before it’s all vacuumed up, or in the vents? How long will our hair be in the vents? Will they ever manage to get every dust particle we’ve accumulated out of this house?

I know I’m weird for thinking these things, but that’s how my brain works. I also wonder how long our handiwork will last. How long before the hardwood stairs we installed wear out, or the new owner replaces them with carpet? How long will the deck, garden boxes, and fences hold up?

Behind all these questions, I suppose, are deeper questions: Will I leave something that will last? Does what I did here matter?

Which gets me thinking about the neighborhood and the people in it. There are no friendships with our neighbors that will move with us. The neighborhood, and everyone in it will stay here and the only thing we’ll take is memories. I’m not sad or angry for this. I’m sad for the loss of community in neighborhoods and I hope my new one will have a better chance at creating that community feel. I’m amazed that of the acquaintances we have made here very few have stopped us to ask about the For Sale sign in our front yard and what our plans are or where we’re moving.

I think about the three of us and what we’ve endured in this house. It’s where my husband proposed to me on Christmas Eve, where we’ve celebrated birthdays and holidays. It’s where I self-published my first five books.

This house is where I became a parent to a special needs child, one of the most difficult and challenging things I’ve ever done and will, most likely, ever do. The standoffs, meltdowns, arguments, doctors, therapists, medications, and so much more all happened in this house for me.

This year has been a season of change. Good changes, sad changes, hard changes, and even one or two that felt impossible. Changes that have made this move possible and desirable in more ways than one. This move is a dream my husband and I have discussed and planned since we were dating and it’s happening sooner than we would have thought because of this year of change.

I don’t know what lies ahead of us. I can’t see past the unpacking of boxes and I don’t know what comes next or when. But I want to build something in our new home that matters and will last. I want the work of my hands to matter. Whether it’s my writing, crocheting, or other crafts produced, or the people I build community with, whatever it is I do, I want it to matter and I want it to last.

I don’t know what that looks like right now, but God does and I feel him leading me forward in this new journey. I know if I follow him, whatever I do will absolutely matter, and will last forever, unlike the hair and dust in this place we’re leaving behind. I intend to blog about our journey, so stay tuned. My next blog will be to announce the name of our new house.

#Moving #FollowingJesus

© 2023 The Journalist. Proudly created with Wix.com