Room by room, I see memories: dance parties, pretend “cave” adventures, measurements on the wall of each child ever since they could stand.

A trickle of tears falls silently down my face as I grieve what’s left behind to make room for what’s to come. But, tears heal. This is the process, my friend. And to ignore it is like putting a band-aid on a wound without washing. It will infect and hurt more later than if you let this natural flow come.

And so, I sit in this moment grieving for what I’m leaving behind. Memories that I envisioned for our future in this place which will no longer take root. Pool parties where I see my daughter budding with curves and my twin boys first stubble appearing–them proudly using their very own shaver after watching their Dad use his all these years. Walks through the local park, chatting with neighbors about the weather. Writing more books in our beautifully finished office/guest bedroom while coaching women who want to do the same. Fire pit gatherings where we talk about the deeper more meaningful things of life.

It’s hard to give up something you love. I loved this home. I loved making it our own. I loved the area we lived in (even though it’s in the city). I love the friendships I’ve cultivated, the evening breezes that always roll through starting around 3 pm in the afternoon, and how close it is to so many fun things.

But sometimes life takes you on an unexpected turn. And yet, doesn’t the Bible say, “Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow.” (James 4:14, NASB)

We can get so caught up in planning our entire life. Yes, it’s healthy to dream and wonderful to plan. But I think what this is trying to say is don’t hold onto it so tightly because you never know what will happen tomorrow. If things change–if you lose your job, if sickness strikes, if the city suddenly feels suffocating, if your spouse passes away, if failure faces you head on–will you grieve to leave room for what’s to come? What if dreams change? Or what if priorities shift and you realize you are not where you should be anymore?

This is us. And perhaps this is you too.

Although I’m hurting for some of the things I am leaving behind, when I think about what’s to come, I see so much hope and promise of things I never saw coming. I also realize that wherever my people are (my husband and kids), that is home.

In our new future, I see my husband more relaxed, less pressured about day-to-day life. I see our family connected by a deeper and bigger mission than I ever dreamed possible of helping people become refined and restore by our Creator. I see kids running free, making forts outside, climbing trees and getting so filthy dirty (not sure how I feel about that part). I’ve envisioned another home, in a quieter more rural space. Perhaps with a wrap-around deck, with an inviting, warm, modern-country feel. A home that fits what my soul is desiring these days–more open space to breathe and less stress trying to afford it. A less consumerism lifestyle of “keeping up with the Joneses,” and more “let’s sit on your front porch and talk about life,” lifestyle. I see purpose, passion and promise of what’s to come. This is good. This is how it is meant to be.

But today, I’m grieving a bit. And it’s okay. Because I have peace about what the future holds. I see glimpses of what God’s making room for. And for now, that’s enough for me to move forward one step at a time, ready to embrace this new future and new dream that He has for me and my family.

 

 

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