There was an impossible amount of stuff. It seemed that every time we cleared a shelf, all the clutter simply reconfigured itself to fill the extra space. We filled and taped up so many boxes, wondering when we’d see these things again, and if they’d go with the new carpet, and whether we’d miss them during their pilgrimage to a storage container. And we found some treasures concealed in dusty nooks and crannies, long forgotten and yet still precious: old poems, bended-corner photos, bracelets made by toddlers now teenagers.
I found myself wondering what happened to all the words that had been spoken in one hundred years, all the prayers that had been prayed. Did the promises dissapear into thin air? Were the convenants undone as the concrete was stripped away? How would we adjust to losing something that was such a part of our life – quirky, unpredictable, leaky; yet at the same time a symbol, crumbling but not fallen, in the same way that we are pressed but not crushed, struck down but not destroyed.
And trooping out the door that last time, I wondered about the goodbyes we all whispered in our heads. And I wondered how we would adjust to exile, borrowing, impermanence. I wondered if it would break us.
Four hundred days, give or take a snagging disaster or two, and we walked through a new front door. Everything was too shiny, was it really ours?
And repeating the process in reverse seemed to take much more time, gathering our scattered possessions, being reunited with old friends. It seemed the boxes had multiplied, surely they would never fit! And where was the pizza wheel? And was £40 too much to spend on a toaster?
Then came a day to mark the journey. Friends past and present gathered, celebrating not only bricks and mortar but a journey, and a new corner turned. It rained but we were unperturbed. There was standing room only.
And now it really does feel more like home. As a picture creeps up on a wall here, and the pizza wheel is safe in its drawer, and all the packing gear is packed away. Settling in, making our mark on the place, familiarising ourselves.
Most surprising of all, it seems the whisper of those previous prayers still lingers, the new is fuelled by the old. With a thrill I realise that we have not forgotten our foundations. Tangible, the promises once made and the hope discovered there readily transfer to the present. And we look forward to new prayers, fresh promises, and hope flooding every inch of space.
And we look forward to what is ahead. To rhythms reestablished and new ideas born. We don’t take this gift for granted. We are blessed.
