I guess the last thing to say about saying to goodbye to my childhood home is that it is no longer my home. After six years of marriage, J and I bought our own house for the first time. It was the tenth time we had moved as a couple. We've added four more transitions to the tally in the last nine years. All the moving around has really helped detach me from the idea that a structure is home.
This side of heaven, J is my home. Wherever he is, is home. In a hotel, the van, apartment, living with family, in a house... if he's there, I'm at home. When he's not there, no place--however comfortable or familiar--is quite home.
And on the other side of heaven, I know my Savior has a beautiful place prepared for me. So any roof I find myself under during this lifetime is just that--a roof. It's the relationships that make home for me, and why it really will be okay to say goodbye to the rock house.
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