This Old House

       I think Cole was about 2.5 years old. Jake and I had been fighting. A lot. We used to fight hard. And dirty. And both of us spent a lot of time trying to be more prideful and stubborn than the other. It got us nowhere and it got us there fast. This particular day had been bad. Cole was in the high chair in the kitchen and I was at the sink pretending to be doing dishes.....since I had abruptly left the table in disgust over whatever stupid thing we were arguing about. Jake walked over to the stereo, then walked over to me......"I am an old woman, named after my mother, my old man is another child that's grown old, if dreams were lightning thunder was desire, this old house it would've burnt down a long time ago...", and we danced. Barefoot in the kitchen. Emotions just as raw as could be, the wounds still open. It's been 7 years. And there isn't a day that I walk into the kitchen in this old house that I don't hear Bonnie Raitt and see us dancing.
    Then there were the nights I spent awake here with Zella. She was so sick and so miserable. We would rock and sing, sing and rock, all night long. Some nights we paced a trail into the hardwood in the living room and some nights she just needed me to lay with her on the floor in her nursery. And those nights were long. I got thrown up on more times that I ever thought possible. I lost years of my life in sleep in that year and some months. But when I walk into her room now, and the crib has been replaced by a big girl bed, and I see that old rocking chair in the corner, I know I would do it all again. The crying (from both of us), the research, the begging with God to heal my baby. The singing. The cooing. The moments that I have that nobody else ever saw or had the privilege of sharing. In that nursery, in this old house, God taught me how to fight for my children. He knew I would need to know how. In that nursery, God broke my heart for a pair of orphans across the world that were suffering with the same tummy issues as Zella and they didn't have a mommy to fight for them. In that nursery, God taught me to cry out to Him.....for someone other than myself. There isn't a day that I walk into Zellas room that I don't remember those nights. She barely fits in my lap anymore. We grew up together in that nursery, at the top of the stairs, in this old house.
   I've been scared to death in this old house. Cole's first hernia surgery almost put Jake and I in our graves. I've never been that terrified in my life. Until it was Jake on the table for 9 hours having back surgery. Until I laid awake listening to David wheeze and gasp as he tried to sleep in his first weeks home. Until Zella had her first FPIES reaction and was limp in my arms. Until the nights before our flights were leaving for Ukraine.....and we were both leaving Cole and Zella, trusting God that He would bring us back to them WITH their new brother. Until furloughs happened. And more surgeries and more loss. And all the while, in this old house, our lives were changed. Jake found God in this old house. And God found me. We started over here. We learned about grace. We learned how to forgive. We learned how to be humble (still learning). We learned how to be quiet. We learned that it isn't always important to be right. We learned how to love each other. We learned how to pray. We learned about obedience......and that God's plans for us are good, contingent upon that obedience. We learned that it's hard. And we learned that it's worth it.
   2 of our 3 babies came home for the very first time to this house.
   This was our very first home. Our first big investment.
   We said yes to adoption in this house.
   We met lifelong, amazing friends in this house.
   We have changed in this house.
   We have witnessed God move mountains in this house.
   We learned the definition of love in this house.
    I learned how to cook in this house.
    I learned to dream again in this house. From those dreams.....children, a business, vision.
    We have filled this home with laughter for 9 years.

 And in this old house, in the last year and a half, I have learned that alone, without my husband, even full of all of these memories that have shaped and molded me, this is just an old house.
  
Tonight is the last night I will sleep away from my husband. Next week we will pack a truck and he will drive our lives to our new old house. And we will fill that place up with memories, too. And those experiences will shape us and mold us further. And when we leave there, it will have been just an old house. Just drywall and brick and a few carpet stains and nail holes. The memories are what we hold on to. The experiences are what shape us. Old houses are just an accessory to a beautiful life.