Old Houses

Since I was a kid, I’ve lived in many different houses and an apartment. I never thought anything special of those houses when I lived there—but now, I always think it would be great to go back and visit—to see how it’s changed, to remember the places where memories were made, and to see how other people are making their own memories there.

It occurred to me today that my current residence will likely be the same way. I don’t think much of it now, and some days I just really want to move—into a better apartment, house, or whatever—forgetting the fact that one day I’ll look back here and remind myself of the memories and time spent here. The stressful move in, the excitement of a new adventure, the monotonous reality of everyday life—the times here when God came through even when it seemed like He wasn’t going to do anything at all. Those memories. 

I don’t want to miss those memories anymore. I want to live them, every single day. I want to squeeze every drop out of life, like a kid licking an ice cream cone until every bit is gone. 

We’re all on a journey somewhere—and often, the temptation is to not bring anyone else along until we get there. Life is happening every second, and if we’re too caught up in what we don’t have or where we need to go, we’ve entirely missed the point. It’s not about where we end up that really matters, but who we became along the way, and who we brought with us. 

And I think one day we’ll look back and smile, and I bet God will too, grateful He gave life to His kids who enjoyed the gift so well. 

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