Leave it to Love

 

It is time to pivot. But I want to be careful.

In 2019, my mom sold her house in Austin, and Philip and I sold our home in Marshall, and together, we invested in our current property. This place has been such a blessing with its wide open spaces and ample rambling room for every Sunday lunch, all the family gatherings, and especially the many weeks of quarantine. It has offered a good many challenges as well, and I count those as blessings, too. Hard thanks.

All three of us sense the start of a new season that is surely filled with freedom and hope. We may revisit a similar setup later on, but for now, we are unified in our posture to step away.

And so … we have made some repairs, freshened the paint, decluttered the nooks and crannies, and Lord knows we have mulched. My stars, the maddening amounts of mulch. It has been all hands on deck for weeks because tomorrow we have photographs taken, and soon it will be listed to sell.

Four years ago, the right thing was to partner together and buy this house. Now, it is time for our next right thing. But before we step away, we are intentionally painstakingly infusing this possession with effort and tender care so as to acknowledge its value that we know to be true. 

Stewarding real estate investments is hard work, and as far as it depends on us, we want to leave this better than we found it. I'm going to be honest. This place looks fantastic! It hasn't been this wholly clean in a while, with so much love and life left to offer. What a blessing it will be to the next family!

Stewarding real relationships is hard work, too. Every human connection (save marriage) bears the freedom to step back or away, and as far as it depends on me, I want to leave people (or watch them leave) better than I found them.

Whether we're the ones staying or going, before it's all said and done we can intentionally put forth the effort to offer tenderness and care, painstakingly affirming the value in others that we know to be true. Wholeness and clean starts ... what a blessing for everyone waiting out the next season. So much love and life is ours to offer.

It's OK if it is time to pivot. Just be careful.

From Our Home

 "Hey, do you have the recipe for Mrs. Mullikin's banana bread?"

"Yep! Memorized: 3 cups flour, 2 cups sugar ..."

"No, I mean the actual recipe. You know the little piece of paper you used to scribble down the recipe for me? It has to be 15 years old with oil smudges and drops of vanilla all over it."

* Please hold.

"Buh-Nuh!! I found it!! Do I get a gold star for producing such an obscure yet beloved artifact??"

"Sure. As long as I get two gold stars for describing it perfectly." 

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"Happy Mother's Day!"

(Scroll to see scratchmade banana bread and a laser-cut wooden plaque of the recipe)

"Oh my gosh, my sloppy handwriting ... but I love it so much! Thank you!"

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Mrs. Mullikin, a widow in her eighties, befriended me in my first years of marriage and parenting. Hers was the first banana bread I actually enjoyed. When I would swoon over it, she would emphasize, "It is Hawaiian. That's probably why you like it."

She shared her recipe with me, and I found even more to love. It only required one bowl and two measures: a cup and a teaspoon. I committed it to memory with little effort and lots of gratitude for dishwashing in a snap.

Many a Saturday morning of my kids' lives were spent boiling eggs for tuna salad, then immediately compensating for the stinky kitchen by baking a batch of banana bread. I still think the kids would conspire to stop eating fresh bananas once there were five left, knowing I would bake bread before letting them rot.

Once a child was old enough, I would share the prized recipe and let them give it a go. How many mushy bananas were rescued and redeemed by simply adding some staple ingredients, heating the oven to 350°, and waiting for an hour. Loads of sweet loaves made for many sweet memories.

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Parenting is a rich blend of challenge, failure, and reward. What is preserved is not perfect. The memories and messages are messy, but I have to believe in the gift of grace. 

Grab some sugar and a wooden spoon. No matter how rotten things might seem to get, this will not be unredeemed.