The shopping behind us, the wrapping complete.

Stacks of Christmas cards and packages mailed, and received.

Gifts exchanged, opened.

Food purchased, prepared, and savored.

Time with family near and far around table and tree.

Warm greetings and reluctant goodbyes (far beyond reasonable bedtimes).

Yet another Christmas come and gone.

Sweet memories to cherish, and (admitably) a hidden sigh of relief for making it through the hustle and bustle of the season.

And now, these days following Christmas, a chance to recoup and reflect.  Reflect on the goodness of the season and the goodness of our God, who sent His own Son so many Christmases ago, the reason why we celebrate each year.  The same God who continues to give good gifts.

This year my favorite gift wasn’t one wrapped under the tree, it wasn’t made by human hands, and there wasn’t a box or gift bag big enough to place it in.

It’s a gift that had more givers than I can scarcely count, yet one ultimate Giver that never ceases to amaze me with His goodness and His faithfulness.

My favorite gift by far?  The gift of a new home and new beginnings… for Nana.  This is the gift I’m most grateful for this season.

Yet simply “a new home” doesn’t begin to give you the full picture for how this new home came about and what truly makes this gift so meaningful.

Oh, how does one wrap this up?

(pun intended)

I do believe the full version of the story is in order…

So that is indeed what I’m dishing out:

After a loved one dies, people often say it’s wise not to make any major life changes.  To allow yourself time to grieve and process and get familiar with the new “rhythm”of life.  Once Papa was gone, Nana did just that, specifically in regards to her house.  Not necessarily because anyone told her to, but rather because she was content and comfortable to “stay put.”  She hired a friend to mow the grass and neighbors helped with plowing snow from her driveway, starting up the generator anytime the power went out, and assisting her when technical difficulties would arise with the computer and such.  When her basement flooded, friends from her church came to the rescue, installing a sump pump and digging the necessary trenches.  We were all grateful for kind neighbors and friends and their willingness to lend a hand when needed, yet we all knew, Nana included, that “staying put” wasn’t an ideal long-term solution.  J and I recruited for her to downsize and move closer to us, and Nana eventually became amenable to the idea.

Parting with her home though, her’s and Papa’s home, downsizing, sorting-through decades of treasures, packing up and moving, moving on, was no simple step for Nana.  Understandably so. Papa and Nana had bought their home together several years earlier when they’d made the big move across states and country, far from the home they’d known for so long, from the area in which Nana had been born and raised and where she had lived the majority of her life.  Papa, especially, had been so excited about the move, excited about new beginnings, and their newly constructed home out in the country.  They’d had fun purchasing new furnishings, having some even custom-built to fit their space and new decor.  It was a beautiful home on a nice lot of land as well.  It was where Papa had wanted to remain for as long as was absolutely possible when he’d become sick, when that tonuge-twisting anaplastic astrocytoma tumor had made itself apparent and its ill-effects ensued.  The home where Papa did indeed remain up until his final day on this earth.

So it was with mixed emotions, that Nana finally did take the leap, putting her house, her’s and Papa’s home, on the market early this past summer.  She didn’t know for sure where she’d end up, but she was willing to step out in faith and wait and see where God would lead.

So with house officially on the market,  the “waiting and seeing” officially began.

Or at least the “waiting” did.

We all waited for the perfect offer to come in.

And we waited for the “just right” new home to come on the market in her desired neighborhood.

Yep, waited and waited and waited we did….

But nothing happened.

Days and weeks and months passed and there were no “nibbles” on Nana’s beautiful home, much less any offers.

And no homes became available in her desired neighborhood either (except for the one that smelled horribly of moth balls, ick!, but, clearly, that one didn’t count).

So Nana, half-heartedly, dropped the price on her house.

And then we waited some more.

Weeks passed.

And still nothing happened.

(insert crickets chirpping here)

So Nana dropped the price once again.

And,then, (drumroll, please), just hours later, as if right on cue,  Nana’s realtor called…

A house had just gone on the market in her target neighborhood!

Could this be “the one?”

We scheduled an appointment to see it ASAP.

And as soon as we walked in, I knew… knew this was the place.  The place for Nana.  It reminded me of her current house, just smaller.  It seemed like there was just the right spot for all her furniture pieces.  And the lot was one of the best in the neighborhood.  The association would take care of all the maintenance and it was much closer to our place.

It was…

Perfect.

Well perfect except for two itsy-bitsy, minor details:

One, it was way-overpriced and two, Nana’s house still hadn’t sold (in fact, those darn crickets continued to chirp).

Drats!

So I did what any sensible person would do and attempted to finagle and figure out how we could make this place happen for Nana.  After all, clearly it was perfect, so there had to be some logical way to make/force the pieces to fit into place.  I knew houses going on the market in this neighborhood were rare and certainly this one wouldn’t last long.  Yet try as I might, it just didn’t make financial sense.

There was nothing we could do but sit and wait (some more) and see what would happened next.

And while we waited, I prayed that God would somehow work it out.  That He would save this place for Nana, because He must know it was meant for her.

And then something miraculous happened.  After just a few weeks of waiting, Nana received word that she had two back-to-back showings scheduled for her house (and if you knew how few and far between showings were for her home in the rural countryside, you would agree that this was, indeed, a miracle).

And if that wasn’t enough, another miracle:  an offer came in!  And after a bit of negotiating, a price was agreed upon.  (Months earlier J had asked me what price I would be comfortable with Nana’s house selling for, and, for no reason than “just because,” this was the exact price I’d voiced to him at that time… mere coincidence?)

And guess what?

Of course you’ve already guessed it, but I’ll tell you anyway…

God had saved that “perfect” place for Nana, had saved it just for her.  And even softened the seller’s heart to drop the price, even so far as to drop it a couple thousand less than Nana’s “top-dollar” offer.

Because God is good like that.

And He was watching out for Nana, even in the little things of what piece of land her new house would sit on and how its walls would be configured for furniture placement.

But God didn’t stop there.

He then sent in the cavalry.

Nana had a few measly weeks for closing, and in spite of all the months of waiting prior, little packing had been done.  Packing up an entire house-full of STUFF can be daunting for a family, much less an individual.  Pile on top of that closing details and inspection issues to remedy and it can be pretty overwhelming.

And that’s where the cavalry came in.

Ladies from Nana’s church, 1 or 2 a day, five or six days a week, for three weeks, coming in and packing up boxes upon boxes, room by room, until Nana’s house was packed and ready.

Ready to roll.

But wait, there was still the task of getting all that stuff from point A to point B; another monumental task in and of itself.

So the cavalry continued to roll in fresh troops.

In the form of 20+ men and boys, age 16-70, a crew of infantry loading box upon box, awkward, heavy pieces of furniture, and don’t forget that piano (no need for a dolly).  All there for an evening of “fun” (i.e. back-breaking labor).  With prayers of encouragement, words of thanks, and the biggest moving van on the lot along with two large trailers to boot.  Complete with a cleaning crew of two lovely ladies, mopping floors, scrubbing toilets, vacuuming dust bunnies, and getting the house ship-shape for closing.  Not to mention food provided to feed the whole lot of them.  And all this a mere week before Christmas.  Cavalry, shining knights on horseback, or absolute saints; absolutely gifts from above.

Mr. head-mover himself, the man who rallied these troops from Nana’s church, had done so with a call to arms via email.  “This is in honor of [Papa],” the email read.  “Because he had a servant’s heart.”

And hearing this choked up Nana and myself, because truer words could not be said.  We knew Papa, could he have been there, would have himself shown up for someone in need… he himself had shown up more times than either of us could count, to give aide in such a way and countless more.

And I was touched, overwhelmed, by this outpouring of love, such a demonstration of being Christ’s hands and feet, packing and moving Nana, all these individuals from her church.  I was touched because Nana and Papa both did, and Nana continues to do, so much for others, both of them having servant’s hearts, jumping at the chance to help when given the opportunity.  And now here it was, “pay-back” time, Papa surely looking down from above with a smile that Nana was being so well taken care of in her time of need.

And the cavalry continued to advance.

Again, a couple days later, 20+ men, some different than before, along with 4 ladies helping to unload the truck, unpack boxes and move Nana into her new place.  With donuts and coffee whisked in by others to reward the faithful troops.  Again with smiles and prayers and words of encouragement.

Wow! (you know, the jaw-on-the-floor kind of “Wow!”)

Christ’s arms wrapped around us in human form.

The gift of a new home and so much more.

This isn’t to say though that good gifts are always easy gifts when you’re the one on the receiving end.  For even as we are sure and certain this is a good gift, it’s still a difficult one.  For in opening her hands to receive it, Nana has had to let go as well.  Let go of her’s and Papa’s comfortable and familiar home, the one they shared together, in order to receive a new home, one that is simply “her” home, not “their” home.  One that holds no memories of their past 40+ years together other than the memories being unpacked from the boxes.

A new home, where new memories will be made; hopefully many full and happy ones.  A new home where “good-byes” must be voiced in order to usher in new “hellos” to what’s ahead.   New friends to be made and welcomed in, and new traditions to begin.

A letting go of what was…

To welcome in what will be…

(In the midst of the packing, Nana gave me some oval frames (shown above), ones that had belonged to her grandmother.  I painted and repurposed those frames into chalkboards, one of which I “regifted,”, so to speak, back to Nana, as a welcome gift for her new home.  On it, I wrote one of my favorite Bible verses, one that has offered me such hope after my own losses. I am confident that God has good plans ahead for Nana in her new home, plans to prosper her and give her a full-of-hope future).

So we enter into this new year with our good gifts, grateful for what we’ve been given and expectant for what lies ahead.

Happy New Year!

Happy 2016!