Bye House...

[what's brewing today: Americano, no room for cream]

The first tangible step towards our move to the mission field was taken today. All the boxes are packed, and my husband and I are headed to live with my parents until we actually fly out of the country. Every item that we own has been individually touched and categorized accordingly:

-Need for the 3 months before we leave, but not on the field
-Need for the next 3 months and on the field
-Need on the field but not now, and
-Store until we end up back in the US someday

Some decisions were clear, some were difficult, and some were surprisingly emotional. But what has truly brought the lump to my throat as I stand in the living room of our little house for the last time is the emptiness that seems to surround me. These walls, this hard wood floor, the one bedroom and one bathroom have all represented “home” for me. We spent our first Christmas together in this house – we watched the seasons come and go here; we prayed together and made significant decisions here. And now the rooms are empty and every footstep echoes.

“Honey, are you okay?” asks my husband. I’m not sure – am I okay? I thought I was excited for this time to finally come, for the months of anticipation to kick into reality. But suddenly I’m overwhelmed by the significance of this moment. We’re walking away from everything that we know to be “home.” I want to sit on the floor and just linger – I can’t seem to walk out the door. One more night – let’s stay just one more night and sleep on the floor. Logical? No, but it feels as if this would ease the turmoil within.

How do I, born and raised right here in Colorado, explain this feeling to someone like my husband who has lived his life as an MK? He has never lived in one house for longer than 2 years – packing up and moving is as sentimental as getting an oil change for him. He is understanding of my emotions, but tries to explain that this isn’t something to be overly emotional about. “You know that if we stay here tonight, we’ll just have to do this tomorrow, right?” Yes, I know. But it feels like it would make this anxiety go away.

Soon we found ourselves leaning against the car, looking at the empty house - the porch light illuminating the number 3324 that have represented home for so long. I know we need to go, but I also know that I can’t just drive off. After all, what kind of counselor would I be if I didn’t take this opportunity to enlighten my husband on the significance of closure?

So I ask, “Do you remember the first time you ever had to pack up and leave your house, before it became routine? Didn’t you ever have the desire to call out, ‘Bye house!’ as you pulled away? We say those things as innocent children, but it’s because we feel the desire to say goodbye to things that are important to us. We’ve spent our first year as a married couple in this house – every time we look back on this year we’ll think of this house. Couldn’t we take a few minutes to remember the special moments we’ve had here?” What followed was a precious time, and I was thoroughly reminded of the steps that led us to this very moment. It’s no wonder that God instructs his people to remember, to look back and recall the ways that he has provided and brought them to their present situation.

We stood there together, shivering just a bit in the cool night air, waving and saying, “Bye House!” And I kept waving until we had turned the corner and the porch light slowly disappeared behind the trees. Bye house.