so last post I said that change was coming, and that I was super excited for it. but my change finally showed up and so far it hasn't really been all that exciting. just really hard. and just a lot of it all at once. but I just want to talk about one of them right now.
I'm not going to lie to you guys, this move has been really hard for me. probably because I've never had to move before and also probably because I've lived in this little house since I was three months old - it's the only home I've ever known. and it may not look like much, but it meant everything to me.
before we left on Saturday, I spent a lot of time walking through each room and reliving memories - happy and sad - that I have kept boxed up in my heart. even some memories that didn't happen in that house, I still associate with that house. it's like a file cabinet, of sorts, where I've hidden the little words and actions that made up the stories that make up my life. they're written there, in the walls and underneath the faded paint and the worn carpet.
if it could speak, the house would tell stories of a young girl finding her way in the world. it would tell of late night talks in her big brother's water bed and playing "G.I. Joes" with her little brother on their blue set table. it would tell you about sliding down old mattresses in the storage room and karaoke on new years eve. it would tell you of birthday parties and Christmases with friends and family. it would tell you of egg wars on Easter and baby pie crusts on Thanksgiving. those walls and windows have so many stories written in them, it could take the better part of eighteen years to listen to them all.
I spent my nights watching the sunset and looking at the stars from the roof, and I learned a lot about who I am and about who my Savior is in those quiet moments to myself. I spent days learning to play guitar, writing poems, and reading books on my front porch or under the shade of my favorite tree. my dog and I played catch in the back yard where the weeds were always too tall. I spent hours experimenting in the kitchen with cousins and friends. I had every curve, line, and bump memorized and could walk the halls blind folded. that house became part of who I am. there's not really words I can write to help you all understand what it means to me, but I feel that this simple "ode to" serves it about as much justice as anything.
i'm just really going to miss it.
the house that built me
we're moved out of our house.
I'm not going to lie to you guys, this move has been really hard for me. probably because I've never had to move before and also probably because I've lived in this little house since I was three months old - it's the only home I've ever known. and it may not look like much, but it meant everything to me.
before we left on Saturday, I spent a lot of time walking through each room and reliving memories - happy and sad - that I have kept boxed up in my heart. even some memories that didn't happen in that house, I still associate with that house. it's like a file cabinet, of sorts, where I've hidden the little words and actions that made up the stories that make up my life. they're written there, in the walls and underneath the faded paint and the worn carpet.
if it could speak, the house would tell stories of a young girl finding her way in the world. it would tell of late night talks in her big brother's water bed and playing "G.I. Joes" with her little brother on their blue set table. it would tell you about sliding down old mattresses in the storage room and karaoke on new years eve. it would tell you of birthday parties and Christmases with friends and family. it would tell you of egg wars on Easter and baby pie crusts on Thanksgiving. those walls and windows have so many stories written in them, it could take the better part of eighteen years to listen to them all.
I spent my nights watching the sunset and looking at the stars from the roof, and I learned a lot about who I am and about who my Savior is in those quiet moments to myself. I spent days learning to play guitar, writing poems, and reading books on my front porch or under the shade of my favorite tree. my dog and I played catch in the back yard where the weeds were always too tall. I spent hours experimenting in the kitchen with cousins and friends. I had every curve, line, and bump memorized and could walk the halls blind folded. that house became part of who I am. there's not really words I can write to help you all understand what it means to me, but I feel that this simple "ode to" serves it about as much justice as anything.
i'm just really going to miss it.
the house that built me
No comments:
Post a Comment