"Leaving a House"

The Wit and Wisdom of Marjorie Holmes Marjorie Holmes is my favorite inspirational writer. Her heartfelt and moving "conversations with God" touch on everyday life, and from time to time, I'd like to share some of her "conversations" with you. I think most of us can probably relate to this particular selection. "On Leaving a House" A selection from "Who Am I, God?" Oh, God, please bless this house that we are leaving. We worked so hard to achieve it, put so much of ourselves into it, and now we must abandon it, and my heart aches foolishly. I wander about the yard, noting the shrubs and bushes we set out. The peach tree should bloom and bear this year and we won't be here to see it! Forgive me for this sense of loss. Bless it. May it bear abundantly for the next people who live here. And the patio. Our hands raked the sand, laid the bricks. Our feet, the feet of our family and our friends, walked them; we enjoyed so many cookouts and happy times here. God, thank you for those times and may the smoke curl just as fragrantly and the food be just as good for those next ones. This kitchen, Lord, almost but never quite the way I wanted. But my husband was so good to do so much. Thank you for his efforts, and the countless meals I cooked here. For these little curtains I made and must take down. For the oven I am scrubbing so ardently for my successor. For all the casseroles it produced, the birthday cakes and holiday turkeys. Bless the woman who will work here in my place. May this kitchen be her cozy shelter ... and may she have it just the way she wants. God bless this fireplace, these bookshelves, this staircase. All these rooms, torn up now, rawly echoing to the tramp of movers' feet. Yet still throbbing with the life that sang and banged and burst within them. Our laughter, our quarrels and confusions. Our happiness and our agonies. I can't bear it. I think for a minute I can't bear it -- to leave this house for strangers, no matter what happened here. It is a part of my life, Lord. My breath, my blood, my being. Cursing its defects, loving its comforts -- my life and the life of my family was here. Now you take my hand and lead me gently from this house. A part of me is briskly directing the activity of moving, a part secretly crying, a part of me at peace. "Goodbye, dear house," I can say. "Be a good house for them. And thank you, God, for the part of my life that will always be here.