Moving

As the sun set on a quiet evening not long ago, I grabbed my hoe from its familiar hook on the garage wall and walked to the backyard. It was time to plant my garden—the last time, as a matter of fact. After 11 years in the same house, my family had decided to move.

Chopping at the warm soil with my hoe, I noticed that the dirt seemed looser and more tillable than in the past. "It's taken me 11 years to get this garden in good condition," I mused with a bit of consternation, "and now I'm going to leave it for someone else to grow things in." After digging several rows, I tossed in some leftover seeds I'd found in the garage: peppers, lettuce, radishes, carrots. "May as well use up whatever is left," I told myself.

Soon I took a breather and leaned against the cherry tree my friend Mike gave me seven years ago. "It's grown tall," I chuckled to myself, "but it's never produced a single cherry in seven years!"

Looking around, I noticed dozens of other landmarks. Over the years, our backyard has become a museum filled with family memories. I paused to ponder each one.

The Rose of Sharon bushes that always bloom on my daughter's birthday. (Mindy was born in Korea. Rose of Sharon is the national flower of Korea.)

The apple tree my dad and I planted several years ago. (It never bears fruit either.)

The basement window someone broke more than once with a faulty basketball bounce.

The hiding places where we used to hide Easter eggs.

The strawberry patch that yields a handful or two of sweet-tasting berries every spring.

The picnic table where we entertained church friends for summer barbeques.

The maple tree that served as third base when my kids and I played softball—and produced piles of red leaves we raked and frolicked in during crisp fall afternoons.

The white picket fence my neighbor used to lean on when he talked with me on summer afternoons. (He and his family moved away last year.)

Because I believe in the Lord, I know I need to be steadfast and unmoveable in my faith. But also because I believe, I need to follow God's leading when he wants me to move. I understand all of this intellectually, but emotionally it's a lot more comfortable to stick with the familiar than to venture into new and unknown territory. "By faith Abraham, when called to go to a place he would later receive as his inheritance, obeyed and went, even though he did not know where he was going" (Hebrews 11:8). In my weaker moments, though, I don't feel like I'm in Abraham's league. His life? "In tents," for he "was looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God" (Hebrews 11:9, 10). My life? "Intense," and sometimes I struggle to keep an eternal perspective.

"It's just a house," I reminded myself as my eyes misted over. "But it's been a good place to bring up our children. A safe, secure, familiar place. We've enjoyed God's blessings in this house. I'm going to miss it."

After taking one more look around, I reached for my hoe that was lying on the ground near the cherry tree. "What's that?" I wondered, as a cluster of ovals caught my eye. I looked up in amazement. The cherry tree's branches—all of them—were loaded with fruit.