Waiting in the car while my husband made a last sweep for his car keys to begin the trek to our new city of residence, I looked carefully at the house. I marveled at the green backyard and the glorious perennials I had planted over the past years blooming in the garden beds. I took in the classic yet sophisticated white aluminum siding and black shutters.  

In surprising speed, tears welled up in my eyes. This was it; my last time to leave this place, this house, this home, this haven for the past twenty-three years. The century-old house had been a sturdy, even charming nest for my birdies. All three children grew up and took wing from here.  

During the seven years my husband and I lived in Afghanistan, I cemented my already solid loyalty to this house. Due to the generosity of a couple in our church who paid our house payment when we moved overseas, our semi-launched children had lodgings and we had a welcome nest to fall into when we visited back in America. When I left my headscarf and role of foreigner behind in Central Asia, nothing ministered to me like sleeping in my own bedroom and making breakfast in my own kitchen. Jet lag and third world problems melted off in the warmth of pleasant, familiar surroundings. 

When I returned from Afghanistan for good, I needed almost two years of recovery. Being able to sit quietly in the comfort, the peace and assurance of this long-time partner, my home, fostered my restoration. A friend sent me a vinyl wall banner when I returned: There’s No Place Like Home. I took a photo of the banner, mounted on the den wall before I walked out the door for the last time.

Back in the car, holding my hand, my husband choked through a brief but grateful prayer for the years of family life lived here and for all the guests sheltered and entertained within the walls. 

It is hard to say goodbye to a house…when God made it so much more.