White House 40391

This week, instead of my blog entry being a tease for this week's sermon, I hope you will let me reminisce a little.  Two years ago this month my mother died.  She had been widowed for nineteen years and had lived in the same house for over fifty years.  That house is the only home I knew growing up.  This past week the "White House" at 50 Locust Drive has a new owner.  Logically, I am glad that my brothers and I were able to sell it in this down housing market.  Emotionally, I feel as if a huge piece of my life ceased.  This house was where every childhood and teenage memory of mine began and ended.  It was the refuge from all of life's storms.  It was the gathering place for all life's celebrations.  It was a place of love and lots and lots of laughter.

As we removed the furniture and other items, I suddenly realized that I had never seen that house or any room in it empty in my entire life.  What in the past had seemed like a small place at times suddenly looked very large and empty.  I walked into my old bedroom, now empty, and couldn't help think about how many times that room had been the place that my dreams were born, secrets were kept safe,  prayers were made, and I recovered from illnesses.  It was a place of study, solitude, and comfort when I was sad.  Now hopefully, it will provide the same for the new owners.

Yes, it was brick, wood, and cement. Yes, a house doesn't make a home.  Oh, but what a home that house held.  I thank God for blessing me with wonderful memories of family and friends that made the "White House" a hub of blessing to all who entered. 

I look forward now to my children and grandchildren rolling their eyes because I have told some story for the hundredth time about my days in the "White House."  Although they may not be aware of it, what happened in that house years ago is impacting their lives today and will for generations to come.

See you Sunday,
Pastor White