That house.
In the last year there, it was like even the house was against me. Toilets broke. The pool broke. Er’thang broke. I was broke. I was broken.
It wasn’t the house’s fault I was broken, but I came to despise the house I had loved so much. In the state of grief I was in – a whole lot of denial still going on, it was easier to hate an inanimate object than admit the full truth of why the dreams I had of growing old in that house and grandchildren playing there one day would never come to be.
With dreams shattered…With broken toilets and a broken heart, I’d had enough. All at once, I was ready to get out of there. I needed a fresh start. Needed less stress. It was time. And God knew it.
God had gone before me, preparing a place for the kids and me. Through some friends who are now our landlords, God provided a rental home. These friends reached out to me and offered their family home months before I could wrap my head around giving up and moving on. Maybe that’s why the toilets, pool, and er’thang else broke. Maybe God was trying to move me along. He knew how stubborn I am and how hard I’ll work and how deeply I love and how long I’ll hold on. He knew what it would take to get me to the place He ordained for us and what it would take for my heart to finally let go.
So let go I did. Mentally first. Detaching myself from that house and those dreams with every box I packed. Physically next. Loading everything we owned into that moving truck and driving down that long, steep driveway, looking back in the mirror but looking forward to what was next. So very much looking forward to finding and feeling like myself again….
I went back one last time to that Willowbrook house. I knew I needed closure. I needed to let go of every broken dream, every feeling of blame, every tainted memory. I didn’t want to take the ugly with me, and I didn’t want the next owners to enter a place that was left in spiritual ugliness.
I went through every single room in that 3800 square foot house, up to the pool, out across the big yard… praying healing, recognizing and thanking God for the good, asking Him to forgive and heal the bad, asking Him to remove any darkness and pour His Spirit into that place.
And back then, I really thought I was praying for the house. I was in too much denial maybe to see I was praying all that for myself. But as I locked the door before walking away from that house for the very last time, I felt such tremendous weight lift from my shoulders, and I have not missed it one time since.
In this new place came healing. New memories. New life.
On the original post four years ago, a friend shared the scripture reference for Joel 2:25-26, “And I will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten…And ye shall eat in plenty, and be satisfied, and praise the name of the Lord your God, that hath dealt wondrously with you: and my people shall never be ashamed.”
Moving on is hard, but sometimes it is necessary, sometimes it’s ordained, and sometimes it leads to life and restoration.
