This Has Been A Happy House

Tonight, as my living room fills up with boxes, as I empty another closet, as I pull packing tape across another bubble-wrapped picture frame, my throat is very tight.

We sold our house.

I am so incredibly, unbelievably relieved. As Scott interviews for jobs, and finishes up seminary, we needed to sell our house. We are leaving Lafayette. We don't know for sure where the next job is, but we do know it's not here...

But I'm also incredibly, unbelievably heart-broken. As I dug through the entry-way closet, and pulled yet another picture frame off the wall, I started to cry.

I love this house.

I loved living here with my brother during graduate school. I loved my beginning in young professionalism with my dear roomie, Jessica. I loved the excited exasperation when my hubby moved in, as I made room for all of his things alongside mine. We lost a baby here. We brought a baby home here. We cuddle a little three-year old who was destined never to be ours. We had Christmases, birthdays, and fights about how to do home improvement projects. There have been countless movie nights, dinner parties, early morning accountability meetings, and fire-side chats.

I love this house. But I love it because it is more than a house.

It is my life. These people, my families, this town... this is where I've lived.

And it's never easy to leave a place where you've truly lived. A part of your soul rips when you do. This is not just my house. This is the place where I've been loved and happy. It's a place where I've learned more about my flaws, and been given the safety to grow.

I do love adventure, but all really big adventures start with leaving comfort. Grad school, marriage, adoption... they were all very big adventures. And now, I'm about to embark on another adventure. And the scary thing is, I don't know where I'm going, or what I'm doing... But I guess that's the way it is with all really good adventures. No one ever wrote a book about a heroine who sat at home in the safety of predictability.

But I think that that's what heaven is going to be like... a huge adventure and absolutely no fear. Imagine what you could do if you weren't crippled by heart-breaking nostalgia and over-active homesickness...

I'm getting ready for my next adventure... and dreaming of the thousands of adventures I will enjoy in that delightful place where there is no fear, as I sift through hundreds of happy memories at "Trace Two."

My favorite ladies... "The Cardigans." I'm blessed to have been surrounded all through college with wonderful friends.

I have a weakness, an addiction, really, for Christmas decorations... And if you had this fireplace, wouldn't you?

Mid-bathroom re-model. This was my 23rd birthday present from my hard-working brother, Bax.

PARTY!!! There's no doubt... cram a bunch of people into an under-sized condo, and they're bound to have fun.

Sunset in summer 2010

Patio parties, complete with colorful lighting, of course.

My delightful early morning accountability ladies... 6:00 a.m. isn't early at all--when you have coffee, chit-chat, and tender hearts. 

First anniversary present... an oil painting for the mantle.

Walking through our neighborhood. For whatever reason, I decided to see if I could make my shadow look like Winnie-the-Pooh. It's a little depressing how close I came...

Our first Christmas! (And the beginning of Scott's love for crazy socks.)

Our little "cherished" treasure...  the adoption that never happened. We only had her for three short days. But she still holds a piece of our hearts. 

Bringing Grant home! 

Christmas 2012... Celebrating with my Michigan loves.

Daddy and Grant. Both thoroughly exhausted from the ordeal of bottle feedings.

Yes, this has been a happy house.

Now There's A Brother "Over There"

He was so tiny. I don't remember, I just see a picture in my baby book-- my little golden head leaning over a new baby. "Tiny hands! Tiny feet!" Even to a little two year old, he seemed tiny. My own little "Bax" (a two-year old's attempt at saying "Baby Alex").

Then there were the matching shorts and jumpers. My mom seemed to love dressing us in matching patterns. Bax inevitably wore suspenders. And he couldn't figure out how to smile. His eyes would scrunch up, his chin would stick out, and he "ruined" every picture. As a five year old, I tried to teach him. But he wasn't good at listening. We played together for hours. I wanted a sister, so I'd beg him to dress up in my dresses. He would. He would even talk in a high, squeaky "girl voice."

When Trevor came along, I lost my best friend. Alex was so relieved to not have to dress up in ruffles and play princess. He and Trevor built forts, made crazy hats out of buckets, and besieged me as I holed up in my little log cabin. Of course, there were the joint ventures: when I tried to sail down the creek on a raft (Alex told me that it would sink--I just thought he was squelching adventure), or when I convinced them both to donate their Christmas money to buy an American Girl doll (Mom found out about that one).

As we grew older, our lives grew in parallels. We lived together for two years in college--two crazy, full, workaholic years. I watched my brother make bad decisions, and then change. He watched me walk off several cliffs, and the grace which brought me back to solid ground. We know each others' foibles. He knows my quirks, habits, and faults. I know his idiosyncrasies, opinions, and interests.

He watched me marry the man of my dreams.
I watched him marry the princess he wanted to protect.

Alexander Joseph Blake.

2nd Lieutenant in the Army of the United States of America.

Today I hugged my playmate, roommate, brother, friend goodbye.

Afghanistan doesn't know what it's getting. My brother is off on another great adventure. I'm delighted in his bravery, terrified by his lack of fear, and convinced that God's plan for my brother has not changed, regardless of his location. My brother rests safely in Afghanistan, protected by the God of the universe, the same God who protected him in his tree-climbing, rock-jumping, fort-besieging childhood.

Please come home soon.

"So prepare, say a prayer, send the word, send the word to be-ware
We'll be over, we're coming over,
And we won't come back 'til it's over Over There!"*

I love you, Bax.

Alex's commissioning. December 2010.

*"Over There"
by George M. Cohan
Copyright © 1917 by Leo. Feist, Inc., New York