It's Time to Move On

And the Rock Was Christ

My family is entering another chapter in our life. It’s time to sell my mom’s house and move her into a condo. It’s a rite of passage in Florida and one I hoped we wouldn’t have to do. I think she’ll be happier. Financially it’s a good move; she’ll be closer to my sister and I …. but it’s the house that holds the last memories of my father and it’s where 28 years ago my mother catered our wedding reception. All evening a good friend played for the guests in our living room on my childhood baby grand piano. In the entrance of the house my mother still has a vase of artificial roses designed by the florist that survived all the weathering of our years together. They stand like a testament to the grace of God that that house was built on the Rock of Christ and that’s the reason we all still stand.

The foyer with the gray slate is perhaps my personal reminder of how long of a journey it’s been, and how much I treasure the memories that house has guarded for so many years.

For those who regularly read here you may recall that I sometimes refer to the fact that I am a rape survivor. I took down a piece where I said it ‘out loud’ with a few of the details. Sometimes I’m good with ‘just saying it’…sometimes I’m not. That hallway was where I collapsed after my kidnapper left me to die and I somehow found the strength to drive myself home. My father, the retired NYPD detective, had to literally pick his daughter up off the floor and help her begin the long road to justice and healing.

Though he lived long enough to see justice served…he did not live long enough to see me healed. Several months later it was in that same foyer that I embraced him after I found out he had terminal cancer. Now it was my turn to give him the courage he so selflessly gave me that hot afternoon in July.

That house was my haven of restoration when my life was in shambles after my dad’s death and my first husband deserted me because he couldn’t handle the aftershocks of a rape victim. It was in my blue bedroom with the white Queen Anne desk I heard his last words to me;

Go on with your life because as far as we’re concerned…it will never be anything but…no

It was the room where I fell on my knees and gave my life to Christ and He began to rebuild with the promises of His Word what no other man or counselor could do.

And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat upon that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock.

—Matthew 7:25

I fought some deep spiritual battles in that house trusting that God would,

revive the stones out of a heap of burned rubbish.

—Nehemiah 4:2

Somehow, I just can’t imagine the realtor parading potential buyers through that hallway to the back bedroom highlighting all the physical features of

this beautiful home, when every time I pass through it I thank God I’m still alive and I hear my father’s voice.

My sister’s going to have to hold me up in this…She’s as tough as they come…and I love her for it. Last night on the phone…we traded places..She was the older sister saying it’s OK to let it go and it’s time to continue the story and make some new memories. This is the sister who helped my mom hang on to that house after he died….the one who accepted the challenge of my father’s last words to her;

Make sure that b…t….d never gets out of prison.

In that house— alone in the world—my sister, my mom and I fought as the rain fell and the floods came. We remembered,

the Lord, who is great and terrible and we fought

—Nehemiah 4:14

for our future and for our home. And by God’s grace…

We won.

It’s time to move on….

But I’ll never forget.

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