I’ve been in my new home for nearly 6 weeks. Thinking back, it wasn’t that long ago that the thought of moving produced the kind of angst in my heart that kept me awake at night. Then all the work of packing, sorting, discarding, cleaning and packing more hit and I was exhausted. (My daughter was also packing to move so we were both doing double duty helping each other.)
Then the move came and all the work started again.
Six weeks later pictures of my once-toddlers are on the walls. Flowers and herbs have been planted. Bird feeders hang on trees in the back yard where woodpeckers, cardinals and blue jays visit. My furniture and curtains make the house feel like home. And, oh yeah, the ceiling fan is the first thing I see each morning.
I’m starting to feel like I’m home again.
Why don’t I like change much anymore? When I was younger I loved rearranging the furniture on a regular basis and replacing the kids comforters. Now I enjoy “same.” My dining room table stays covered with cloths because I can’t bare to sand paint and markers away from Julia’s artistic creations. My nearly 25-year-old living room furniture needs its third fabric makeover but something in me wants to savor the faded print just a little longer (and remember when the brand new 80’s dusty pink and blue colors were hip). And, yeah, my ceiling fan is the first thing I see each morning.
Stuff is really just stuff. But sometimes stuff like furniture or ceiling fans remind us that with age comes a level of contentment that surprises me sometimes. I used to love going to my grandmother’s home because I could walk into the living room, sit on the chair and put my arm on the crocheted arm rest protectors that probably hadn’t been washed since I had been there last. In an adolescent world where boyfriends and “cool” and emotions consistently fluctuated, going to Nannie’s reminded me that some things don’t change.
During the unpacking in my new kitchen there was one cabinet that I immediately chose for something special: the snacks. Since the kids were young, the snack cabinet has been to the right of the microwave. From house to house, they always knew where to look for chips, Oreos or M&M’s. One time I tried to put snacks in a different cabinet. I was quickly told it just wasn’t gonna work. When my youngest son came home from law school the first time after we moved to our new home, I watched him go into the kitchen to find junk food. He knew exactly where to go.
If you’re young, keep enjoying change. But if you’re getting up there like me, perhaps you, too, find comfort in sameness.
Perhaps God is getting me ready for eternity with Him — where I’ll never move again and it will always be home.