The smell of cardboard. Every room carries the earthy, dank smell of this cardboard castle that was once our home. Life changes. Moves happen. One chapter closes in this proverbial book and the next is already underway.
Moves remind us that life is transient. They challenge us on both the need to put down roots and the importance of branches. The soil of life matters but our call is always upward. One rooted home today becomes tomorrow’s cardboard castle. Life changes. Moves happen.
As we bid farewell to one home and say “hello” to the next, we do so with gratitude. We are thankful for the intimate way that a house became a home and that home became a good friend. A friend that kept the cold out in the middle of winter. A friend that provided boundaries to living space in a way that was not suffocating, but comforting and calming.
It was this home that Allison and I began our married life. It was the four walls of this yellow house into which we started a family. We’ve put sweat equity into the garden spaces, the yard, the paint on the walls, the carpet on the floors. We’ve laughed here. We’ve yelled at each other here. We’ve received great news and sad news here. We’ve lived here. Life changes. Moves happen.
To the little yellow house on 252 Banning that smells like a cardboard box, thank you for the many years of memories. Thank you for being intimately wed to my story. Thank you for being a good friend. The transition doesn’t honor the role you have served to both me and my family. For almost 100 years you have stood in that location. My prayer is that you’ll stand for 100 more. In a day and age of more and more, you remind me that sometimes even houses that smell like cardboard boxes can be just enough.