100 Brown Boxes

I stepped through the back door and glanced to my right. The plain washer and dryer were not running. Outside of the clothes I was wearing everything was clean and packed. This fact did not make me happy. Had there been wet jeans in the tub, it would have met this place, the place we had called home was still ours.

I walked past the little bathroom, the noe you washed your hands in when you came in from pulling weeds in the flower beds, or to get the dust off from the seeds we fed the birds. It had ship n the wall reminding me that you couldn't change the wind, but you could adjust your sails. I didn't care to be reminded.

I left the garage door closed. That is where they were.

I stepped into the kitchen, a broad sunlit space. I looked at the island, where the Swiss Cake Rolls and laptop sat on the weekends. I looked at the kitchen table, where we played games with Pat and Gary, the owners of the house and had many meals with Kenny, their son who lived with us the years we were there. It was hard to conceive of their generosity. They truly considered this place a gift from God. I looked at the sink were I had what was the most important talk I ever had with him. About his Dad and about God.

I knew why we had been there, I recognized God's plan in it. I couldn't help but want to stay.

Over the kitchen table, through the arch of brick I can see into the great room. It is a tall ceiling open space. It served us well on many a holiday and church gathering. You could be close, but not cramped with a lot of people in that room. I could imagine the white plastic tables and numerous chairs, seating for the complete family in Christmas colors. Now there was only the couch and chair. A lamp sat between them. It was there Shelly and I struggled with the reality of our home not being our home. We didn't want it to be true. We loved this place. We had been blessed by this place. We had blessed our friends with our place. We wanted it so much to be ours, in our hearts it was, the problem was it wasn't. Pat and Gary had been so generous across the years they never broke that illusion. They came as guests NATO their own house. They had given us this place for that time. They gave us a home.

I walk down the hall toward the master bedroom. On the left are the bedrooms of our girls. They had just finished their Kindergarden year. We thought we could work it out for them to go there, for us to live here. For reasons we didn't understand, the home needed to be sold. No matter how we worked it, Shelly and I didn't make enough money to buy it.

The illusion was gone.

The master bedroom, t Shelly and I, may have been the jewel of the house. Our bed sat in the large dark room. Bedside lamps on either side. Just off the bedroom was a walk in closet connected to a changing space with the sinks. Off this room was the bathroom with a nice shower. I drifted through these space for one of my final times. My mental fingers were loosing their hold.

I changed into clothes more suitable for the job ahead. It took a deep breath, letting it all go, and went into the garage.