The sun has set this evening.
A quiet, southern breeze whispers through the Live Oaks, shushing away the heat of a stifling, pre-summer afternoon.
Lightening bugs glow against the silhouette of the trees while Whippoorwills and other night birds echo across the pastures with the orchestra of frogs and crickets.
There is no traffic. There are no loud neighbors.
On this patio, behind the home I’ve lived in and loved for 13 years, there is only peace. Serenity. Memories.
I watched my preschool child draw on the concrete here with chalks of blue, pink, and yellow.
I soaked up many rays of sunshine on hot summer mornings.
I’ve drank hundreds of cups of coffee, grilled dozens of meals, had many heart to heart conversations with friends, family, and Jesus, right where I sit as I type these words.
And I’ve written. I’ve told the stories of my life thus far, shared my inspirations, my struggles, my beliefs, and given away a piece of my heart with every post.
For the last 5 months, life has been all about selling this place. Making room for a new dream, and opening the door for new memories to be made.
On Tuesday, we’ll have achieved the first step by signing over the deed for our first home to a new family.
I’ve tried to not dwell on it much, this mix of emotions that I feel. But I need to feel them. I need to process the goodbye, so I can begin our new chapter.
I try not to become attached to things. But it’s remarkable how sometimes the attachment happens without my trying.
I will miss this place.
My family is my true home, not the walls that house us. I know this.
And for several weeks, there have been many things about the physical, brick and mortar structure as well as the selling process that have driven my husband and myself to the brink of complete insanity.
Still, my heart aches a bit for knowing the goodbye that lies ahead.
I used to charge full speed toward change. Embrace it with enthusiasm. I find that time has tempered that adventurous spirit a bit. Maybe shown me the merits of applying some wisdom before I jump.
And yet, that is exactly why I have peace tonight – in spite of the hard goodbye and the nostalgia that I’m feeling.
Because I know it’s time to close this chapter. I know it. I know exactly where I need to be, and it is no longer where I’ve been.
This time next week, my family and I will be in a temporary home. Someplace to hold us and our stuff while we build something else, together. The last place I plan on ever laying my head at night for the rest of my life.
The evening sounds are different there, but also the same. And I’ll be taking this peace with me. Thankful for what I’ve had, thankful for what I have in the meantime, and thankful for what’s to come.