{ For Whom The Bell Tolls }

I sat on the floor, in the corner of our living room, observing the empty space and the eerie way my voice bounced off the walls in an echo when I called out to my husband. In the mad rush that was filling and loading all our earthly belongings into boxes and the miles of bubble wrap and packaging tape that come with such a ritual, my little five week old son let it be known that just because we'd forgotten about our dinner, he had not forgotten about getting his. So I scooped him up in my arms and settled with him down on the floor, the flurry of moving day put on pause for a little bit, and then it all began to hit me. I could hear myself think and it scared me because I dreaded the deep surge of emotion that I had tried so hard to bury in box after box being loaded onto the U Haul, to be moved over the mountains, and across the state to a new home.

Then the bells from the Catholic Church adjoining the back corner of our yard began to ring out, their last call for Saturday night mass. As I sat there I thought about how much I'd grown to love those bells over the last five years of my life and remembered how I would always stop whatever I was doing to listen to their happy sound whenever they would ring, and I thought about how much I was going to miss those moments of peaceful reflection. Those bells expressed so well all my feelings toward this home sweet home we were about to leave...they summed up almost six years of memories made...hours of accumulated laughter, some tears, the birth of both our children and many beautiful milestones, great and small, along with the millions of just regular, ordinary sort of moments that make up life.
And as I listened to the familiar dong....dong...dong...the tears that had been pooling up in my eyes spilled out over my cheeks, as I felt an overwhelming pang of sadness knowing that I was hearing those bells for the last time.

The next morning as I stared out the car door window, familiarizing myself with the streets and houses around my future home, half pinching myself inside as we pulled up in front of the towering blue, circa 1909 house that we'll someday call home, half terrified at the task that lay ahead in making this house a home, I stepped out to the car, with a hopeful heart. It was then that I realized I was I hearing bells. Lood and clear, these glorious bells rang out around me. Goose bumps popped up all over my arms as, awestruck, I whispered my thanks to Him. In that moment I felt seen and known and loved as I listened to the bells ring in a new season as they had rung out an old,  His faithful love stunning me afresh.

But isn't that just like Jesus to send us little reassurances, like that.




P.S. - I cannot tell you how glad I am to have a blog full of memories to look back on, of the years we spent in our first home. It's one of greatest blessings of keeping a blog. That, and having the love and support and encouragement of each of you.