Boxes and bubble wrap and change.

Written last week. Pre-move. Things got a bit crazy and tired before I could post...


I have been staring at walls this week.

Not because I am bored and have nothing better to do with my cloudy and cool Spring Break. But because there is that saying that insists that "if these walls could talk..."

And I am wondering this week, after 5 years of viewing the Crumby household... just what they might disclose if given the chance.

Because the boxes are packed, friends. There are only a few left that await their filling. A very few last minute belongings to tuck in their place to carry to another home.

The rooms are empty and exposed. The cabinets are bare. Preparing themselves for the next person to come and fill them. With memories and laughter and tears and all the moments.

And I just can't help but beg these walls to talk. Perhaps if I stare at them long enough they will. Perhaps they will remind me of all the growing I have done within them. In this house. This first house.

You see these walls hold so much together. Or so I have thought. They have stood and stared upon a baby marriage. Two people trying to figure out this thing of sacrifice because of great love. They have bore witness to the ugly moments and good alike. The kindness and the scars. The giggles and the tears.

They have watched as friends and loved ones curled up on couches and around tables and on carpet to gather and be together. They have heard the stories and heartaches and the deep freeing laughter that comes when people gather and stay.

They have welcomed in those who needed some refuge. Homeowner and guest alike. They have warmed them with home.

They have accepted a maddening array of color. And have been gracious to allow us to swipe a brush and change our minds until it was just the right shade of Crumby.

And boy have they celebrated alongside us in the big things and small. They stuck it out in the hard and unknown. They reflected our joy in holidays and graduations and birthdays and sleepovers.

And even now as I continue to pour over all they have seen, I am wishing that I could remember it all. Because it has been so good. These walls have provided so many good things. So much more than I expected when I let myself in their door 5 years ago.

And I hope that they have seen hope in our living. Joy in our days. Kindness in our speech. Grace in our forgiveness. The hospitality of Christ. I hope that this place was not void of the eternal. That its use was for His mighty work.

Because while they are simply walls. And it is simply a house. If there is anything I have learned in my first years as homeowner, it is that the Lord can use the space. He can fill the walls. With so much that is lasting.

He honors the sacrifice of giving homes over to Him for best things.

And I am hurting so deeply to give up this particular space this week. I love it. It has been my safe spot. My refuge. My happy place. The place where I can breathe and sink in and stay.

But I am thankful for the perspective of what a home can be. Whatever shape it may take. A home is a space that the Lord can use. And I am breathing in hope that this space can continue its eternal use with the next owners. And that whatever space comes our way can be just as useful.

So this is my goodbye. To the house with the blue door. You've been good to us, old friend. You tell the story of the faithfulness and goodness of a loving God. Who stands for our good. Who knows our very depths. Who sees our needs. Who fights for our lives. Who is the very picture of sacrifice.

You are a part of our story. Our heart. And that just won't change.

Don't mind all the pictures. I need them to remember. I can't bear to forget.