Leaving Home

When a house means so much more than the walls that support it.

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As I type this I really should be packing, or logging into accounts and changing my address. Maybe securing power at our new house, or a million other little details that need to be ironed out. 

The moving truck will be here in just a few short days, and I’m sitting here in silence with my coffee and reflecting. The sitter has the kids at the park and I’m soaking in these last hours of memories. 

I wonder who else brought their babies home here, made memories here, celebrated anniversaries and holidays here…

This old ranch house was built in 1958, and she had her fair share of problems through the years. I confess I complained A LOT when the roof leaked, or the plumbing needed to be fixed for the 1,243rd time. Or the time we had to put several piers under the foundation as the fireplace began to crumble away. My husband and I got into more than a couple of what we like to call, “heated fellowship” moments when I flew off the handle about our home and all its flaws. 

I guess in those moments I forgot about the heart of this home and all it saw us through.  I suppose through renovations, repairs, and contractors I had forgotten all it’s meant to me.

We started our marriage here, we brought two of our three babies home here, formed deep, deep friendships that will last a lifetime here. We made memories on summer afternoons as the children jumped and splashed in the pool over and over again. I wonder how far down the road you could hear the squeals of delight and innocent laughter?

Afternoons that turned into evenings where we would fire up the grill; that satisfying smell of charcoal permeating the patio as we would gather with friends and enjoy a beautiful Carolina sunset on Deerfield Drive. Experiencing so much laughter with our neighbors (who have become our family and best friends), crying with them, praying with them, and raising our children together.

This house was here in the valleys, too. It was part of the angst in my season of waiting for my babies as we struggled with infertility, and when we experienced loss and disappointments, disagreements, changes in jobs, and all the ear infections.

We grew here, we celebrated here, came home from vacations here, and loved deeply here. 

In Miranda Lambert’s song, The House That Built Me, she describes the house she grew up in and the impact it had on who she was. 

“I thought if I could touch this place or feel it, this brokenness inside me my start healing.

Out here it’s like I’m someone else,

I thought that maybe I could find myself

If I could just come in I swear I’ll leave.

Won’t take nothing but a memory 

From the house that built me.”

I didn’t spend my childhood on Deerfield Drive, but in so many ways this house did build me, and for that, I’m forever grateful. 

On Friday we will pull out of our driveway here for the last time. Then, another family will pull in, and I know this house will mean as much to them as it has to us. 

Can you relate? What does your home mean to you?

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Sarah has lived in Columbia since she was a kid, but it never felt like home until 2012 when she married her husband, David, and moved to Forest Acres. They met in 2010 when she was as a single mom, and have two children together, Hannah (age 4) and Titus (age 1), and Madison, (14). Sarah has a cosmetology degree, and is a part time stylist, while being a full time wife and mama. She has a deep desire to connect with other women, whatever season, to remind them they are not alone. She is a 'social' introvert, a deep thinker; who pays no attention to details, loves reading, but never finishes a book, she has a strong love for God's word, and despite her many flaws she desperately wants to be used to further the kingdom. She is a foodie, coffee drinking, wanna be perfectionist. She can identify with blended families, infertility, teenage parenting, and mental health issues.

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