The walls felt cold, when we first stepped in, new to us and oh so bare. I wondered how many other people have stepped across this threshold; how many other characters have played a part in this house’s story.
The rain came in with our tires and we raced the storm as best we could, lugging in box after box, soaked with droplets from the crying sky. We stood in the midst of wet boxes and white walls and sneakers squeaky from water, and we looked at each other- really looked. Amidst the exhaustion, the nine hour drive, the frizzy hair and the sweaty clothes, here we stood, and these white walls and wet boxes were ours. We swallowed hard, wanting to laugh and cry, and for one small moment, one that may have been waiting for us for years, perhaps centuries, we knew that the path we were on was good. As we stood aI caught a glimpse of one eternal day, when we will always know that where we are and who we are is good.
The pews were hard and the sun made the stain glass colors bounce off our clothes. We stood to sing that ancient hymn, the notes etched in love by our fathers. We sang and I swelled with the voices of my own, those who had given their weekend to help us unpack and then showered us with gifts, who brought us food and then took us out, whose laughter and sweet spirits made the transition lightyears easier. My mother, father, sister and brother, voices weaving in harmony around me like a blanket. So much love, in those voices, for each other and their maker, and I cried with joy for the day when we will sing together eternally alongside the writers of these hymns, in the presence of he who inspired them.