Letting an Ending Have Its Space

I’m sitting in an empty house—the first home my husband and I bought together.

The house I’ve lived in the longest.

This place has seen a lot of life. It’s been a safe space through so many seasons. It sheltered us in storms—literal and figurative. It held laughter during New Year’s parties, Friendsgivings, Bible studies, game nights, and spontaneous gatherings with people we love.

It witnessed our highest highs and walked with us through some deep valleys.

This house gave us room to be.

It was the life of the party before we had kids.
It became our refuge during the long, hard fight to start a family.
And later, it became sacred ground as we brought home each of our children.

When I look back, I can see the fingerprints of God’s goodness everywhere.

And now—it’s empty.

Just four walls and a roof again. Quiet. Waiting to welcome someone new.

I never thought I’d be the type to get attached to a house. We moved often when I was growing up, so houses were just houses—temporary. Even when we bought this one, we knew it wasn’t forever. We always assumed we’d leave one day.

And we have.

I love the home we’ve moved into. It already feels like the kind of place where roots can grow deep.

But before I rush into what’s next, I want to pause.

To say thank you.
To let this ending have the space it deserves.

Because even now—as it echoes with emptiness and memory—this house reminds me of something true:

God is always doing something new.

He is the One who builds.
Who shelters.
Who restores.
Who fills empty spaces with life again.