My House

Whenever I start thinking about the fact that I'm probably going to have to give up my house I start to cry. I love living here so much with the unobstructed view of the sunrises, sunsets, moons, and stars. I have lived in town before I know it's not the same. I am going to miss those parts of the day, watching the sunrise and sunsets so much. There are many good memories here. I picked this house and it's really just me, it fits my personality perfectly. I love every bit of it. I love the snow in the winter and the leaves in the fall. I love the porch swing. I know that if it's meant to be for me to give up this house, that God has other plans for me, and it will be alright in the end. I know it's just a house. It's a material thing and in the grand scheme of things doesn't matter at all. It's not like it's a person's soul. It's just a bunch of wood and nails. So why do I cry every time I start to think about leaving? Maybe I'm still hanging on to part of the old life a little with it? I don't know. There's just so many memories.