Uprooting

We're in somewhat uncharted territory, Josh and I. We're selling our home. I pretty much don't count the first time we sold a house. That was a house we only lived in for a few months, in the very early days of our marriage. It's a lot different this time.





I love this house. It's the only home my children have ever known. Mister was six weeks old when we bought it. He was a bit colicky in the evenings as a wee one, but the day we moved in to this house, he stopped crying. When we walked him through for the first time, he looked around so intently. He's always been a very intuitive child. He knew it was home.





I love how safe I feel in this house. It doesn't rattle in the wind. It doesn't let in the draft. My neighbors are kind and trustworthy. When I close the doors, I sigh with contentment. I'm home.





I love the memories in this house. A church began in our living room. A German exchange student met Jesus as her Savior in my kitchen. We've had birthday parties, Christmas parties, and countless guests in this house. Fifteen guys showed up of their own accord to put on a roof on this house for us. I've brought two babies home from the hospital to this house.





I love that I know this house. I know how much it costs to heat it. I know that in order to shut the pantry door I have to twist and pull up on the knob to get it to latch. I know how to get to the bathroom in the dark without running into walls. I know how it smells.





I love what I still don't know about this house. I still use the wrong light switch to turn on the hall light. I turn on the stairway light instead. I do the same thing in the garage breezeway.





Eight years isn't really a long time to live in one place. Josh grew up in the same house until he went to college. His parents still live there. I was from a more nomadic military family, but once my dad became a "civilian" and settled down, I spread my roots and bloomed. I've grown a lot of roots in the past eight years and figured I'd grow a lot more here. I chuckle a little and think that I'm glad one of the terms for moving is "being uprooted" and not "chopped down". It's a reminder that the only thing I'm really losing is the soil I'm in. The transplant may be a shock at first, but I will get used to it. And I will blossom again.