But it's great exercise.
And I love that I'm healthy enough to exercise. When I've not been moonwalking, I've gone to a dance class with my sister (it was canceled, but hey, I had enough verve to go), hit the gym with my dad, and done push-ups. Well, I didn't actually do push-ups, but I imagined I did. It all starts in the mind, right? And it's been years since I've had the energy to even imagine doing push-ups. So, basically, it's been a break-through week.
It's also been a week of change.
Last month my parents moved from our home of 23 years to a house out toward the country. It has breath-taking views, large windows that invite the light inside, and, of course, slippery wood floors.
But it's not home. Not yet, anyway.
The trees in the backyard have never held tree houses built by small, clever hands; the smell of the yard's freshly cut grass doesn't remind me of kool aid and slip n' slides; I don't know where every light switch is; and the boys' bedroom doesn't smell like. . . boys.
When I turn onto my parents' new street I don't remember the days I sold rice krispie treats on the corner; and when I pull into the driveway I don't turn back time and envision four little blond waifs toppling out the door wearing tutus and cowboy boots.
All this change doesn't detract from my gratitude for the new house. I am quite thankful for it. It's a refreshing and wise change for my faithful parents. It's a good gift from a good God.
It's just that so much of life feels like sojourning — like looking for home, and never quite finding it. I can settle into my own abode, and decorate, and bake, and light candles, and usher in guests, and slip on red shoes and click my heels three times. . . but the reality is, heaven is our only true home, and nothing will ever feel like HOME home until we settle into our heaven-home. But I think the house I grew up in was as close to home as you can get, this side of heaven. Going home to it was a deep comfort. I felt like I belonged.
But I guess it's good to feel uncomfortable — to be reminded sharp and fresh to turn my heart toward heaven, instead of storing all my stuff down here where time will eat away at it. It's good to be reminded that I wasn't made for here. The unfilled longing for home reminds me that Jesus is the only One who can satisfy. God is gracious to remind me of this.
And I know that one day there will be little grandbabies spilling out the new front door, and maybe even selling lemonade on the corner — with me as their business advisor, of course. At some point someone will don a tutu or cowboy boots, and I imagine I'll eventually find all of the light switches. My big toe will be thankful when that happens.
Yes, we'll fill this new house with memories, as we re-center our hearts on heaven. And my mom is right: "The more memories we make, the more this house will feel like home."
So we've been working hard to make lots of fond memories this week. Here are just a few:
We sit around and talk, and little brother keeps us in stitches. The boy's timing is im.pecc.able., I tell ya.
We [read: my fun mom] turned the downstairs into a movie theatre, and have been enjoying the t.v. series "Pushing Daisies." So clever, so sweet, and so intent on lauding virtue. How have I not discovered this series until now?!
We got locked out of the house (didn't waste any time in re-making that memory),
|E and her sister, A, are childhood friends that came to visit for the weekend.|
And when that didn't work we initiated our first ever "Operation snag-a-key" at the new house.
|Operation "Snag-a-key" initiated|
We ended up locating a key fifteen minutes away in my dad's office. A short while later we were inside the new house enjoying a cup of steaming tea and a good chat.
We sip tea and chat most afternoons. It's a go-to memory-maker around here.
© by scj