There is something exciting about moving to a new house. Every circumstance is different, of course, but if your old house burned down it means you get to buy a new toothbrush and a new couch, as well as everything in-between.
If you are an artist, which I am not, it means going to a furniture store and picturing how everything will look in the new house. If you feel responsible for the practical, which I do, you check in regularly with your real estate broker, compare the amount in the insurance checks with the amount needed for closing, and think about what else might go wrong.
There is something distressing about moving to a new house. You find things are dirty that you thought would have been clean. I wonder why I am so comfortable with my oun mess and so distressed by someone else’s? You find things broken that you didn’t expect. You take the short trip to crazy because you can’t find the thing you need. You have everything but the one thing you need NOW.
There is a king of grief in not being in a familiar place, a place where you have memories.
I wonder if the neighbors know how much I would like it if they came over and welcomed us. Maybe told us their name and some of their story.
I’m thankful, I’m excited, I’m scared, and I’m tired.
Jesus Christ is the same, yesterday, today and forever.