I walked down the hallway tonight with only the soft iridescence of night-lights and a knowledge of my footsteps in this house. It was after 11:00 and the world seemed snug-tucked asleep. I had just passed the Christmas tree and reflected on our unspoken reluctance to take it down. We all understand that it is our final Christmas in this house.
The Lord told Noah
To build him an arky, arky
The Lord told Noah
To build him an arky, arky
Build it out of gopher barky, barky
Children of the Lord
We brought Aleksandra home from Russia some 7 years ago and we promptly purchased this home we currently own, and then scrambled to sell the one we were in. For three months we made two mortgage payments and then sold just as we ran out of money. Barely.
With a newly adopted baby girl in our arms we packed up everything and moved to an adjoining town. This house was large, near my parents, and exactly what we needed. Sure, it required a great deal of work, but it was structurally sound and in a really nice neighborhood. We invested all that we could... this was the home that we would raise our children from, and most likely retire from. As we painted walls, made repairs, and hung pictures... we did so with care knowing that this home would cover us through the end.
And it has. The end was simply different that we knew. The end in fact, is our biggest beginning.
Ironically, we are only a few weeks away from repeating our history. As soon as we get home, we will have a house on the market that simply must sell. Our folks thought us reckless the first time... and while they are completely supportive, I have to wonder what conversations slip from whispered lips when doors close (and I don't blame them).
We are thrilled to make this transition, and would have it no other way. In fact, we would both tell you that there simply IS no other way. This is our path.
And the hardest part... is waiting. There is noise in the silence of waiting.
It rained and it poured
For forty long daysie, daysies
It rained and it poured
For forty long daysie, daysies
Nearly drove those animals crazy, crazies,
Children of the Lord
It took Noah a great deal longer than 5 1/2 years to build an ark, but I would love to have a discussion with him and ask him how long those final 40 days seemed. Once the door was sealed, the animals were on board, he was committed, and he was just waiting for that first sign of dry land.
I bet those 40 days felt like an eternity.
I can imagine that he walked the gopher-laminate flooring of his hallways at night as his mind replayed all the scenes that had brought him to this point. I can hear the words of his prayers as he stretched out flat and prayed privately to God. He knew it was worth it. He knew that this was the only way to get through, and he knew that the cargo he carried was beyond all wealth and sacrifice.
Kel and I have about 6 weeks to wait before we can make that 13 hour flight... we have 40 days. It nearly drives this animal crazies crazies. And yet, when I allow my pace to slow a bit, I see clearly that I am fully at peace. There is a gently rocking to this floating arc and I am reminded that we are cradled in arms that are big enough.
And so... until then: the house is cleaned, rooms are cleared out, belongings are sorted for donation and sale, there is a closet full of tiny pink clothes, a drawer full of fuzzy onsies, a high-chair at the dining table, bottles waiting at the kitchen sink, and a crib ready to receive its third little Shepherd.
40 days. I can hear the music already... float arky float! Here we come.
Rise and shine
And give God the glory, glory
Rise and shine
And give God the glory, glory
Rise and shine
And give God the glory, glory
Children of the Lord
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