It Will Be Alright

Today the decision we'd taken about our house had to be reversed, which for me has been hard, but feel confident it's the right one. So now we are preparing to rent it out on the market. So much to be done, so much to be cleared away and got rid of. But the hard part is handing my home over to strangers who, from past experience, probably will not care for it well.

I love this house. There's not a square foot we've not worked on in some way over the years. I was a little girl who loved playing house and delighted in dollhouses, a teenager who made dens, a Uni student who went up early to make our digs more homely. This house has been our base for all bar the first few months of our married life. Love the way we've brought light into it. All the memories... me on a stepladder the day before Deb was born, stripping the thick layers of paint off the ceiling rose in the front room. Paul and Julia spattering their freshly decorated bedroom with dark blue paint the night before we left to go back to Brazil. Zion helping Dada strip the hall paper.

So it was a gift to walk into the front room this evening and see the light falling onto the Father's hands in Rembrandt's "The Return of the Prodigal", so gentle, as though they were on my shoulders, reassuring me that it will be alright.

Gratefuls:
- clarity on the decision, it's the right one
- the gift of this house and all the good memories it holds
- Sam making us a delicious dinner of fish with pea risotto and avocado salad