The Part You Can’t Buy

I spent this morning de-personalizing our house.  It goes on the market in a couple of weeks, and the things which make it our house are the things which will slow down a sale.  The Crucifixes in every room have been reduced to the one over the front door.  The wedding photos and baby pictures have been wrapped and put into boxes.  It’s no longer looks like our house, but like anyone’s house.

The younger children have been following me from room-to-room and watching with anxious eyes as the things they know so well are boxed away.  They’re getting nervous about what all this change will mean for them.  I keep hugging and reassuring them, but they don’t like change any more than their father does.

When I sat down this afternoon to look at home listings in Dallas, my little shadows crept up and began peering over my shoulder.  They don’t like the idea of leaving, but the idea of arriving is exciting.

“How will you know?” my 6 year old asked.  “How will you know which one is our home?”

I smiled at her worried frown.  A childhood as a constantly moving Navy brat taught me a lot about moving.  “It doesn’t really matter which one we pick.” I told her. “Whichever one it is will be home. You can’t buy home.  That’s the part you bring with you.”