“Home is people. Not a place. If you go back there after the people are gone, then all you can see is what is not there any more.” ~Robin Hobb, Fool's Fate

We sold the kitchen table.  Sunday afternoon, a nice Hispanic family came to pick it up.  They had three young children, and when I told them they could take the red chair cushions, their little girl was very excited.  Jeff helped the dad carry it out, and I watched as they loaded up the table and chairs into the back of their truck and drove away.  And I felt strangely sad.  I wasn't expecting that.

We purchased that table and chairs in Arkansas about 22 years ago.  It had a tiled top, matching the tile backsplash in our kitchen there.  I never really liked it in our kitchen here - I thought it didn't match very well, but it was functional and so we kept it -- until now.  We are in the process of packing as we get ready to move to a new house.  That old tile-topped table is not going with us.

We moved here in October of 1997.  When we bought this house, the girls had just turned seven, and Caleb was a very gregarious four-year-old.  Twenty years.  In this house, we have celebrated roughly 100 birthdays, 20 Thanksgivings and Christmases, and we've had 15 New Year's Eve parties.  We have hosted countless Bible studies and many dinners with friends around our larger dining room table.  We've had several graduation parties here, and over the course of those 20 years we have moved kids out . . . and sometimes back in.  Our guest room has housed many guests, including boyfriends who became husbands to our girls.  Lydia made the first overnight trip of her life to this house.  All of that barely scratches the surface of the good times here -- there were fun times in the pool, the zip line and tree house that Jeff built, the sleepovers the kids had growing up... those are just brief glimpses into the endless memories of happiness, fun, and laughter that have reverberated from these walls.

The memories stretch out further into the neighborhood as well -- Caleb did his Eagle Scout project down the street, placing picnic tables, games, and a grill in the commons area.  We've enjoyed that on several occasions when friends have visited.  And the daily walks with our dogs when we've stopped to visit with the neighbors, or we've been followed and sometimes chased by animals on the loose have also been memorable.  The kids trick-or-treated for many years in this neighborhood, and our family always laughs when we remember the Halloween that Sarah was a present and fell down several times on our trek around the block, unable to get up on her own.

Some sad memories come to mind as well.  In this house, I opened up the door on two different occasions to have a heartbroken child fall crying into my arms.  Snowball (Sarah's hamster) was murdered by Cupcake (Becca's hamster), and both are buried at the end of the driveway.  Opie, our beloved Beagle is buried in the back yard, where there is also a beautiful Camellia bush that was planted there about 14 years ago - a special gift from some special friends in memory of my father and his sudden passing.  And it was in this kitchen where I stood doubled over in shock on that foggy October night with the phone to my ear as my brother told me that Daddy was dead.  It was also in this living room that Jeff got the call about his father's passing.

And then there's that kitchen table -- we gathered there as a family of five every morning and evening to share our meals.  Jeff read from the Bible every morning at breakfast, and at dinner we shared details of our days.  Caleb always provided our comic relief - sometimes getting in trouble for being too silly - and Becca usually asked if anyone else was cold.  But much more occurred around that table than just eating... school projects, Boy Scout projects, and wedding reception preparation happened there.  Christmas cookie decorating and Easter egg dying were both yearly events around that table.  And who in our family can forget the tears shed at that table during late-night calculus tutoring sessions with Jeff and the girls?  Countless birthday candles were extinguished there, and the games... rowdy, raucous, intense games, which sometimes ended in conflict.  That kitchen table was a microcosm of life in our home.  So it makes sense to me now why I was sad to see it go.

Sarah Dessen wrote, "Home wasn't a set house, or a single town on a map. It was wherever the people who loved you were, whenever you were together. Not a place, but a moment, and then another, building on each other like bricks to create a solid shelter that you take with you for your entire life, wherever you may go.”  So as we say goodbye to this house, I'll try not to be sad.  Instead, I will look forward to the new house wherein we will build new memories.  A house where the walls will soon reverberate with laughter, and some tears will be shed there as well.  A house that will one day fill with grandkids and friends.  A house that will, like this one, become home.  Not because of the bricks and mortar, but because of the love and people that will fill it.  Lots of memories and living and loving yet to occur.  I can't wait to get started.

"Why can’t we get all the people together in the world that we really like and then just stay together? I guess that wouldn’t work. Someone would leave. Someone always leaves. Then we would have to say good-bye. I hate good-byes. I know what I need. I need more hellos." ~Charles M. Schulz

I grew up in a fairly small town.  I was blessed to have my extended family close by.  Granny and PawPaw lived a short 10-minute drive away.  It was easy and common to stop by their house anytime we were out and about.  Some of my most treasured memories of my Granny were the days I stopped by to visit with her as a young adult living on my own a few miles from her house.  I loved being able to pop in at Granny's house whenever I wanted.  Additionally, in my early life, Uncle James and Aunt Sallye lived within a short bicycle ride of our house. Uncle Bill and Aunt Billye also lived in the same town.  I have wonderful memories of ordinary days spent at their houses.  I had other aunts and uncles, but I never developed close relationships with any of them.  I tend to think a big part of that was distance.

As I think now about my own family, I was curious about how society has changed in the past generation.  I googled it and was surprised at what I found.  A study published in 2008 determined that the typical American lives only 18 miles from his or her mother.  As I continued to read, I learned that those who live farthest away from mom are those who are more highly educated.  So I guess Jeff and I should not have spent all of that money on those university degrees for our children!  Just kidding.  But my reality is that Sarah, Ryan and Lydia live 612 miles away, and Caleb lives 129 miles from us.  Becca and Jeff - who have been a close 65 miles away will be moving next week -- 448 miles from home.  And from Sarah's home to Becca's new location will be a whopping 995 miles.  At least we are in the middle - they can meet up here!

Where our children are concerned, Jeff and I have always taken the view that we were raising them to leave.  Maybe not in the 600+ mile way, but to make their own lives separate from us.  We have prayed for them to have their own faith, and to be a light in their own corners of the world.  They are doing just that, and we couldn't be more proud of them.  The two who are married have truly followed God's command to "leave and cleave," and I'm very proud of that as well.  They both have godly men who are leading their new homes and providing well for our girls, and we are thankful.

Unlike the generation I grew up in, we are blessed with technology that helps to keep us close.  I love the ability to FaceTime - my Friday morning FaceTime dates with Sarah and Lydia are priceless to me.  And the bluetooth capability in our vehicles is priceless as well - most of my phone visits with Caleb occur while he is on the road.  We are also blessed with the ability to span the miles between us in a relatively short time -- I can get to Nashville on a two-hour flight, or a nine-hour drive.  I know other families who are separated by much greater distances.

So next week when we load that truck and travel with Becca and Jeff to their new home in Midland,  I will try to remember all of that, and not dwell on the fact that we live outside of the "typical American" statistic.  I'll be happy for them and excited for this new phase of their journey together.  I'll come home and see the wood burning gift that Caleb made for me hanging on our kitchen wall, and I'll be reminded and thankful for the deep roots that keep us close.  Because after all - my children could all live within that statistical 18-mile radius and not have the close-knit bond that we enjoy in our family.  That would be much worse. And I'm already looking forward to this Friday's FaceTime call, the daily text messages, the on-the-road phone calls, and especially the next time all of my precious ones can gather under the same roof.  We are truly blessed.

"Man is a dog's idea of what God should be." ~Holbrook Jackson

For Caleb's 17th birthday, we gave him a puppy.  Jessie is now seven years old, weighs 80 pounds, and is no longer Caleb's dog.  As parents, we obviously were not thinking ahead when we gave that 17th birthday gift -- Caleb soon went off to college, and then began his adult life and career in Irving.  Apartment living is not conducive to an 80-pound Belgian Shepherd/Coonhound mix!

  So, Jessie has been content to live life in the Stewart back yard for the past seven years.  She's grown up here, sleeping in her heated dog house in colder months, and on the deck when it's warm.  She's passed her time chasing squirrels, killing moles, and scaring off birds.  She loves to swim in the pool in the summer, often jumping in and putting in a few laps all on her own when no one else is out there.  And her favorite past-time has been bringing us her "frisbee" (which is really the lid off an old chlorine container) to throw so she can retrieve it.  She's been on frequent walks around the neighborhood, and a few weeks ago she killed a copperhead that was on our deck.  (Jeff was about to kill it when she grabbed it in her mouth and shook it violently until it broke in half!)  All in all, she's lived a happy and fun life here.  This is the only home she's ever known... until now.

We are in the process of selling our house/purchasing a new one.  Knowing that it would not be the best scenario to have an 80-pound dog greeting prospective buyers, we asked some friends to keep Jessie for us while we are showing the house.  They agreed, and Jeff took her over to their house about a mile away one Saturday morning a few weeks back.  She looked to be in doggy heaven in their vast backyard!  Our friends told us that they might have a couple of weak areas in their fence, but they thought, for the most part, she would be contained.  She seemed to be acclimating well to her new surrounding and warming up nicely to her new humans.  Or so we thought...

Early on Wednesday morning after relocating Jessie, I went outside to pull the trash container up to the street and was startled as I heard a large animal galloping toward me.  I turned around to be greeted by a very happy and excited Jessie!  She jumped all over me, licking me, as if to say, "I'm back! I know how much you missed me!  Aren't you glad I'm home?!"  She then ran to the back yard gate and looked at me like, "Well...aren't you going to let me in?"

She hadn't been that far away, but we still marveled at how she found her way home since she was taken to our friends' house by car.  She's never liked fireworks, and would usually take refuge from them under our deck -- my guess is that on Tuesday evening - the 4th of July - when the fireworks started, she got scared and decided she needed to get HOME!  So she did!

Home.  I read that dogs can use their amazing sense of smell to find their way home from great distances.  Dogs also bond with their owners, and especially in Jessie's case, when one home and one family is all they've ever known.  Jessie's strong desire to get home led her to do whatever it took to make it happen, even scraping up her snout and gouging her cheek in the process.  She was willing to do whatever it took to get home and back to her people.

I was thinking about this as it relates to my spiritual life.  Do I have that same kind of desire when it comes to my efforts to get home to heaven?  Do I desire above all else to be with God?  In the short-term, do I long to spend time with God in prayer and study of His word, and are His people, my people?  What about in the process of the journey through life, do I feel uncomfortable when I venture out of the presence and influence of God's people into unknown and worldly environments?  Do I do whatever it takes to get back home?

We've tried again with Jessie.  We took her to another friend who lives a lot farther away.  He has several other dogs, a lot of land, and even some horses for Jessie's amusement.  She seems to be adjusting well there, and I'm sure she's happy.  But I would venture to guess that given the opportunity, she would try again to find her way home.

I hope I always have that same sense of "belonging" when it comes to my relationship with my Master.  And I'm thankful for the things God places in our lives - like Jessie - to remind us of how strong that desire should always be.

“Children who have faith have distinctly different characteristics from those who don't. In fact, one of the main manifestations of a person with strong faith is the ability to give—not just in terms of money or possessions, but also time, love, and encouragement.” ~Stormie Omartian

"I guess your kids will be home this weekend."  I've heard that several times this week.  After all, it's Mother's Day, and kids are supposed to go be with their mom, right?  And since my kids are the most thoughtful ever, then surely they will make every effort to be here on Mother's Day - right?   I do indeed have the best kids in the world.  Hands down!  But no, they won't be home with me this weekend.  And that's ok.

Mother's Day in our country began in May of 1908 by Anna Jarvis.  Her mother had died in 1905, and she was looking for a way to honor mothers for the sacrifices they make for their children.  After that first successful Mother's Day of 1908, Jarvis sought to make it a National Holiday.  In 1914 her goal was achieved when President Woodrow Wilson officially established the second Sunday in May as Mother's Day.

Interestingly, once Mother's Day became a national holiday, it strayed from what Jarvis' original vision of the day really meant.  While she intended it to be a celebration within families, it quickly became commercialized - florists, greeting card companies, and other merchants saw the opportunity to profit greatly, which disgusted Jarvis.  By 1920, she openly denounced the holiday and what it had become and urged people to stop buying cards, flowers, and candy.  She even reportedly went broke, as she spent her wealth initiating multiple lawsuits against groups using the name "Mother's Day" for profit.  By the time of her death in 1948, she was actively lobbying the government to remove Mother's Day from the national calendar.

The simple celebration of families to honor their mothers was turned into something loathsome to the very person who got it all started.  And since that time, the commercialism of Mother's Day has only escalated - in 2010, $14.88 billion was spent on Mother's Day, making it the 4th largest holiday for consumer spending.

So am I implying you should forget Mom and never purchase another Mother's Day card or gift?  Not at all.  I've had some sweet Mother's Day surprises in recent years - like surprise visits from my kids, a very special video they put together for me, heartfelt cards, and many others.  I treasure those things, and those memories continue to warm my heart.  But what I am asking you to consider is the bigger picture.

No, my kids will not be here on Mother's Day.  Instead, they will be busy doing what Jeff and I raised them to do - seeing to the needs of others.  Sarah will get up Sunday morning and make sure her little family gets to worship services on time, as she prepares to teach her Bible class - she's putting God first.  Becca will go to work as a nurse that day, providing tireless care to patients - some of whom will be ungrateful - as she helps her husband provide income for their new little family, which honors God as well.  And Caleb will be traveling to provide comfort to someone he cares about who had surgery this week.  In those ways, they are honoring me more than any card or bouquet ever can.

I loved Mother's Day when my kids were small, and I still treasure those sweet homemade gifts that came from their hearts.  One such construction paper bouquet still hangs from my bedroom door knob.  In some ways, I miss those childhood hugs, sloppy kisses, and high-pitched childhood voices saying, "I love you, Mommy."  And I'm still moved when my kids remember special occasions for me in special ways even now.  But one commercialized day a year does not really matter in the big scheme of things.  Instead, I treasure every hug, kiss, phone call, FaceTime encounter, and text message.  Those all come regularly on normal days and mean the world to me.  It really is the in-between "holiday" times that mean the most.

So if your children can't be with you on Mother's Day, be thankful for who they are and the times you do get to spend with them.  If you are blessed to have them around you on Sunday, be sure to soak it all in.  And if you see me on Sunday with none of my children present, don't feel sorry for me.  I will be happy and counting my blessings - thankful for the three who call me "mom," and the two bonus sons who have joined our family; for the love my family shares that keeps us close in spite of distance; for the desire my children have to come "home" when they can; and for the loving, compassionate, godly adults they have grown up to be.  They are all serving Christ and others, and that's the best Mother's Day gift I could ever receive.

My homemade birthday gift this year from Caleb

"Motherhood is a choice you make every day, to put someone else's happiness and well-being ahead of your own, to teach the hard lessons, to do the right thing even when you're not sure what the right thing is...and to forgive yourself, over and over again, for doing everything wrong." ~Donna Ball

"The gravestones are like rows of books bearing the names of those whose names have been blotted from the pages of life; who have been forgotten elsewhere but are remembered here.” ~ Dean Koontz

I have always been fascinated with cemeteries and the stories they tell.  That is, as long as it doesn't involve the story of someone I have known and loved.  I know many people find comfort in visiting the gravesites of loved ones, but for me, there is no comfort in that.  I have only been to the cemetery where my father is buried a handful of times since his death thirteen years ago - - to me, I would rather remember him in places where he lived.  The only memories I have of him associated with that cemetery are sad and painful ones of the day we left his corpse there to be lowered into the ground - a day that capped off a shocking, sad, and painful week.

However, walking through a cemetery full of graves from the 1700's and 1800's is captivating.  Jeff and I have spent this week in Charleston, South Carolina.  On Monday, we toured the downtown area, and spent some time walking around in several graveyards.  (Incidentally, I learned this week that a graveyard is a burial ground that adjoins a church, as opposed to a cemetery, which does not.)  Many of the stones there were so worn by time and elements that they were illegible.  Others, however, told stories.

These days, our tombstones generally have minimal information.  You can often learn the name of the deceased, along with their birth and death dates.  Some will have relationship information on them, or a Bible verse.  But the stones we found in the graveyards in Charleston read more like obituaries.  I was particularly struck by this one . . .

This family lost six children, ranging in age of death from ten months to seventeen years.  These children died between the years 1828 and 1839.  I stood there reading their names - Robert was one year old; Frederick lived to the age of four and a half; Judith was just shy of her tenth birthday; Eliza was only ten months old; Charlotte was eighteen months old - the current age of my sweet grandchild; and James, who lived to be seventeen years old.  I wondered as I stood there how many other children the Ladson's may have had.  What pain and suffering these parents endured.  And while it was not uncommon in that period of time to lose children to death, I'm quite sure the higher death rate statistics did nothing to lessen the pain. At the bottom of the stone is this inscription:  "Dedicated in early life to the service of the Lord, we rest in faith that through Him they have obtained a more perfect inheritance."  

Another stone that fascinated me was this one . . .

Margaret Elford was only 43 years old when she died in May of 1817.  The inscription reads, "Leaving a husband with seven young children to lament their irreparable loss.  She was:  In childhood obedient; in wedlock virtuous; in prosperity humble; in adversity resigned; in sickness patient; in death happy."  I would've liked to have known Margaret.  She was obviously loved and adored by her family.  As I stood there, I wondered about the seven Elford children, and their "irreparable loss."  Again, death at the age of 43 was not that uncommon back then.  However, to the Elford family, I am sure death came way too soon for their beloved wife and mother.  

So many families affected, and so many stories among the stones we read.  These were just a few that made an impression on me.  

In the young ladies' Bible study I teach, we discussed Romans 12:9 -16 last week.  And we began that study by asking ourselves how we would want to be remembered, as this particular passage of Scripture is a very practical "how-to" guide on demonstrating God-like love.  Love without action is not love.  How am I living out that love in my life?  Additionally, the writer of Ecclesiastes stated, "It is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting, for this is the end of all mankind, and the living will lay it to heart." (Eccl. 7:9)  

As we left that graveyard Monday afternoon, I took it to heart.  What will be written on my gravestone?  If I have suffered great loss as the Ladson family did, will I exemplify the same hope they did in the simple inscription at the bottom of the memorial to their children that continues to proclaim their faith 160 years later?  And what about the epitaph of Margaret Elford?  I can think of no greater commendation than was written about her, except maybe for the addition of "In all of life Christlike."  

Today I am making my life story, and you are making yours.  One day at a time.  And we don't know when the story will end.  So today, let's be sure we love without hypocrisy, abhor what is evil and cling to what is good.  Let's truly love one another with brotherly affection, and outdo each other in demonstrating that love.  Today, let's be zealous and fervent in our service to the Lord, as we rejoice in hope, show patience in tribulation, and have a constancy in prayer.  Let's be busy about contributing to those in need and showing hospitality today.  Let's spend today blessing those who persecute us, rejoicing with someone who is joyful, and weeping with someone who is not.  And today, let's live in harmony with all.  If I do all of those things today, and resolve to do them again tomorrow, and every day until my story ends, my story will end well.  And while there may be no epitaph written on my actual gravestone, the commemoration written on the hearts of those who share my life will be enough.  That, and the eternal salvation God has graciously offered me in Christ.  

Walk through a cemetery sometime.  It is time well-spent.

“Your children are the greatest gift God will give to you, and their souls the heaviest responsibility He will place in your hands. Take time with them, teach them to have faith in God. Be a person in whom they can have faith. When you are old, nothing else you've done will have mattered as much.” ~Lisa Wingate

A few week ago I was blessed to be able to travel to Tennessee to spend some time with sweet Lydia and her parents.  Lydia and I had some wonderful moments together throughout that week.  She was a big helper as we went to the paint store in helping to pick out perfect paint samples...

Every morning that I was there began the same way... Lydia woke up around six o'clock, and we would snuggle up with a cup of apple juice and a blanket, and spend a little FaceTime with Pappy.  Some mornings we read books together, while other days we would just quietly snuggle as Mimi soaked in every moment.  I made a deliberate attempt to file in my memory the feel, the smell, and the sound of this sweet little soul.

Some days were cold and rainy, and we enjoyed inside play time on those days...

We did silly things like her new "dance," which her mama named "fast feet..."

We put picnic tablecloths on our heads, and ran around the house wearing our cool shades. 

We also got to play outside on days that were sunny.  We "fed" the ceramic bunnies, ran up and down the driveway, watched birds in the trees, picked up sticks, and listened to dogs barking down the street...

But the most memorable times of the week were those moments when Lydia showed me that she's learning what her parents are being so faithful and consistent at teaching her about God.  It began on Sunday morning.  As the Lord's Supper was served, and I held Lydia in my lap, she watched intently as I drank the fruit of the vine... then she proceeded to put her tiny fingers up to her paci, tilt her head back, and pretend to do exactly what I had just done.  Later on, she faced forward on my lap as we sang "He Leadeth Me," and even though she can only speak a few recognizable words, she "sang" her little heart out.  Worshipping God with her parents is something that is a priority in her family, and she's learning to love God and His people.  And even though she does not comprehend all that is involved, she is learning to worship her Creator.

Each evening since Lydia has been old enough to be awake consistently at seven o'clock, her parents have made her bedtime ritual the same... They read a story from her Bible, sing a Bible song, and pray before she goes to bed.  Lydia knows the routine well.

On the last day of my most recent visit, Lydia repeatedly picked up her Bible and would "read" it for herself...  She would flip through the pages, sometimes quickly, other times stopping to consider a specific "passage," and she did this throughout the entire day.
But what impressed me most about that was what she would do each time she finished "reading" a particular Bible story.  As is her custom at bedtime with Mommy and Daddy, Lydia would close her Bible, fold her hands, and look at me expectantly . . . she wanted to pray.  And pray we did!  I honestly cannot tell you how many times we prayed that day, because I lost count!  But every time she closed her Bible, that's exactly what she wanted to do - every single time.

As the quote at the beginning of this post so succinctly states, it is a heavy responsibility to be a parent.  God gives us these precious souls that are pure and clean, and entrusts us with the obligation of molding them into God-fearing, Christ-following adults.  Ultimately, each child will grow up and make their own decision about serving God.  But what we do in those early, formative years as parents can make a world of difference.

So parents - and grandparents - what you do today matters.  Teach them to worship, to spend time in God's word, and to pray.  More importantly, do those things yourself.  You cannot give away what you do not possess.  And when faced with choices between spiritual things and physical things, always choose the spiritual.  Gospel meeting or baseball game?  What about Wednesday evening Bible study or homework?  Is God, His service, and His people a priority in your home?  (Many times we can make a creative effort to allow our children to participate in wholesome secular activities that initially appear to conflict with the spiritual by taking some extra steps - ask me about chasing the band bus down the interstate sometime!)  It matters a lot less what we say than what we do.  Our children will know what comes first by our actions and choices.

We all make mistakes in parenting.  My kids can certainly give you their lists of my shortcomings.  But may our children never be able to say that we did not consistently put God first in our homes.   Nothing else will ever matter more.

"All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another." ~Anatole France

It happened later this time, but it happened nonetheless.  This is the second time, and I honestly did not expect it.

The first time was June 2013, and I wasn't expecting it, then, either.  Sarah and Ryan got married, and I was so happy and excited for them!  I wrote then about how I didn't cry at their wedding, because I saw no reason to - Sarah was happy, and was marrying a good man.  Someone who would be a spiritual leader for their family, and would help her go to heaven.  I felt nothing but joy!

Until... "it" happened... I walked into her empty room the following week, and I was hit with that sudden realization that everything had changed - Sarah had a new name, and a new home.  THIS wasn't "home" to her anymore.  She wouldn't be coming here for extended periods of time, and her formerly messy room now bore no characteristic Sarah-isms.  She and her stuff were gone.  For good.

As Becca's wedding approached, several friends asked me if I was sad.  Once again, I saw no reason for melancholy.  Becca was happy, and she was marrying a good man.  I knew that he loves her, and that he would "nourish and cherish" her.  What more could a mother want?  And after all, it wasn't like Becca had been living at home full-time.  She had been on her own for quite some time, living and working in Dallas for a year after her graduation from Texas A&M.  Yes, she returned home for a short period of time while she regrouped, but then she moved to Nacogdoches - once again, she was on her own.  So with all of that in mind, I honestly did not expect the melancholy I felt following Sarah's wedding.  But I was wrong.

It didn't come immediately.  The newlyweds left their wedding venue following the reception for a week in San Diego.  As they returned last weekend, they flew into Dallas, and then drove here to spend the night.  The next morning we lingered long at the breakfast table as they told us about their San Diego adventure.  Then, they loaded up their vehicles with what was left of Becca's stuff, along with wedding gifts and (of course) Brinkley, and they made the hour-long trek to Nacogdoches to settle into their new life as husband and wife.  I smiled and felt nothing but joy for them as they left our home headed for "real life."

But then yesterday the mail came, and in the usual pile of bills and flyers was an envelope addressed to "Rebecca Stewart."  And, as I've done so many times over the past years, I walked into Becca's room and laid it on her dresser.  That's when it hit me.  The Rebecca Stewart that piece of mail was addressed to is now Rebecca O'Rear.  And she doesn't live here anymore.  She will never live here again.  The stuff that cluttered her dresser and littered her floor over the past several weeks is gone.  And now two wedding dresses hang in the closet - reminders of the two girls who grew up here; who laughed and cried here, and who giggled with their friends during late-night sleepovers; who got annoyed with each other sometimes, but more often with their brother; who got frustrated over math homework at this kitchen table as their father patiently worked through problems with them; who learned to cook and help in that same kitchen; and the countless other memories that these walls hold.  Now, Becca's room has become like Sarah's room.  And like Sarah, Becca has a new name and a new life.  One that has forever changed her relationship with her parents.  It's supposed to be that way, and it's a GOOD thing... It is God's plan, and God's ways are always best!  But it's still a little sad in a weird sort of way for at least a few moments from a mother's perspective.

But the story doesn't end there.  Thankfully, my first time taught me that.  Because they DO come back.  And they bring their husbands and their puppies.  There's more joy in that, because there are more people to love and laugh with.  And who can complain about more puppies?  Not only do they come back HERE, but they also gain a new family full of more people in other places who love them... And seriously - can you ever have too many people who love your kids?  Not possible!  And then... THEN with the passing of time, they bring BABIES.  And without the change of names, and the new homes, and all of that, there would be no new babies.  And I can tell you, there's NOTHING that compares to your babies having babies!

So yesterday it happened again.  I was sad for a moment, and felt that empty melancholy of an empty bedroom.  But that feeling was soon followed by overwhelming gratitude.  I truly have the BEST . . . the best husband, the best children, and the best sons-in-law a mom could ever hope to have.  Not to mention the absolutely sweetest, most darling granddaughter ever born!  My cup quite literally overflows.

So I will focus on those blessings and look forward to the times when they are all "home" again - filling our house with their laughter, bickering, messiness, and appetites which increase our grocery bill substantially.  And I will enjoy the in-between times when it is just Jeff and me - those days are quite sweet as well.  The FaceTime calls, phone calls, and text messages come on a regular basis, and keep us connected during those in-between visits. The sadness is gone.  Life is sweet.  I am blessed.