Tomorrow is moving day. Tonight is our last night in this house, sleeping under this roof.
It's bittersweet, to say the least.
I moved into this house when I was 20 and I'm leaving it at 27 a completely different person. I went from single to married, from college student to working girl, from childless to mother, all in this house.
My entire twenties have been spent under this roof; chasing dreams, making new friends, pursuing talents I wasn't sure I had, learning how to be a wife, learning how to be a mother, learning the meaning of the word grace. And when I stop and look at these walls, this tile floor, those framed photos on the bookshelf, I desperately want to capture this feeling of home, security, familiarity and comfort.
For the past seven years, this house has told the story of who we are.
Today, as we carefully pack dishes and remove art from the walls, I find solace in knowing that our story could never be left behind; it's coming with us wherever we go next.