In late November 2001, Mom, Laura, and I moved from our tiny one bathroom house on the westside of Greenville to a two-story house in Taylors. As a high school junior, I had no idea that I would live more of my life in that house than any other so far. A few Fridays ago, September 21st, that house went onto the market.
Mom and I both agreed that the time had come. Two out of the three former, original occupants no longer live in the home. Laura moved out five years ago. Mom left when she married Ellis a little over two years ago. I have gone through a gradual decline of over-sentimental attachments to the house. Through my journey into Minimalism, I have grown to value experiences and memories over things, or in this case, a house. Even when I move, I will still have my memories of all the wonderful times we had with some incredible people.
Frequently in the past few months, I have thought back on some of my first memories formed in that house, from running upstairs into the bedroom now mine with five and six year old Josiah and Timothy, to having a breakdown as I sat in the kitchen unpacking drinking glasses, longing to go back home. This house was not my home, yet. That memory, rather than depress me, amuses me and fills me with gratefulness to God. He provided this wonderful house for our family and helped ups make it our home.
I left for highschool graduation from that house and returned to it on weekends during my first (and only) semester away at college. I left for college graduation from that house and for work at my first real job as a teacher two years later. Each time I spent time away on vacation, I returned to the house and smiled. I was home. We held parties over there, family birthdays, holidays and random parties for Laura and her friends. I opened the door to my kidstuff girls to celebrate successful Bible memorization with pizza and ice cream sundaes. I hung out in the living room with “my boys,” Timothy and Josiah, watching too many movies to count or playing Lord of the Rings Risk or Monopoly. Each Friday or Saturday after Thanksgiving, I turned the Christmas music up high and danced heartily as I placed the decorations in their spots. I could go on but I have made my point. We really truly lived in and loved that house.
Over the past two years, God has opened and closed a variety of doors, all of which have lead to the place we now are. God closed the door on the house Mom and Ellis rented for a year and opened the door at Grandpa’s house. God opened the door for Aunt Kathleen by, after a lifetime of waiting, providing a husband and a new place to live. That opened yet another door to provide a place for me to stay if Mom decided to sell the house. God continues to guide our steps through this process and confirm in our hearts that we have made the decision.
At the time that I originally wrote the post, the house had been on the market for two weeks with plenty of showings and no offers. Mere days after writing the original handwritten copy, an interested party requested a second showing and, after a few days of negotiation, Mom accepted an offer on the house. In a wonderful turn of events, Mom, no longer a single mom, gets to sell this house that has nurtured a single parent family for seventeen years, to another single mom. It is almost as if this house has a mission to minister to single parent families.
Closing comes in three week’s time. After two weeks shy of seventeen years, God will close the door on this chapter and open the door on a new one with plenty of blessings in store.