The house that built me

If you listen to country music you may have heard the Miranda Lambert song The House that Built Me. Today was kind of like that. I was alone in Surry County waiting for the carpet guys to finish at Dad's. All the paperwork is done. Two more "chores" and then the waiting game. I was driving to my sister's to pick up Sophie and, as I always do, I passed the road that I grew up on. It occurs to me now that I rarely register that road, but today I couldn't not go. Noticable changes the road is now paved instead of dirt, two homes are old and condemed, the trailor below us was gone and the garden is now grass. But the same RR track that my brother and I would race to on our bikes as soon as we heard the whistle in the distance to see if we could smash a quarter or wave to the conductor. The same house. I could see my dad with one leg propped up on the brick under the carport, always the left one, with a cigarette in hand on a fall afternoon listening to the dogs chase a rabbit as he taught me how to distinguish the dog by the bark. I could see him on the red lawn mower in high speed mowing the grass. I remembered him teaching us how to skin a rabbit. I remember the summer he caught a baby raccon and it almost bit his finger off. I saw my handprints in the concrete where we put in a basketball goal. The wood stove was burning and I saw the many loads of wood that I threw to my brother as he and dad stacked them. I saw the place where the beegums stood and could imagine him in his white suit with the smoker in his hand. The batting cage area was grown up but I could see it clearly. I never understood why he put that thing in we always enjoyed Sunday afternoon trips to the batting cage better anyway. Listening to oldies but goodies. I could clearly see the Phyliss Deeler chickens and I could hear him roll out the windows and say "hilda hush that racket" because the dogs were barking at something in the woods. As I turned my car around and was leaving I remembered riding in the middle of the old red truck, I was always in the middle because it was closest to Daddy, and he would let me steer on our road. Today I refused to think bad things. Today I missed my Daddy. Ever time I pull into his driveway it is like pulling the scab off a wound and pouring salt in it. Monday was the hardest because his truck is gone. With every visit to his house it like losing a little piece of him. His kitchen is clean, his cabinets and closets cleaned out. The furniture is gone. New carpet and flooring in the bathroom. Everything is labeled trash, goodwill, sell or Jeremy. I want to be done and yet I don't ever want to leave.
Sigh!!
One thing for sure in this whole journey God's hand has been apparent. I have seen him work out all the details, the timing, the workers, the finances. Today, God did another amazing thing.
I went to the bank to get money for the workers and the lady opened Dad's account and when she was done, she looked up and said, "I knew your dad. He was such a nice man. Always with a smile. She shared a story that when the bank first opened up, the first day my dad came in with biscuits and fresh honey for all the tellers." He shared about his bees and when she shared in interest in wanting bees of her own he brought her a catalog to help her with information on how to get started. God keeps putting people in my path to tell these great stories about my dad. I am so thankful.
God cares about every detail of our life. He loves to listen to us and comfort us. He loves to strengthen us and give us peace in times that are unbearable. He is an awesome God.

Dear Brother, God is even working out the fact that you have not been able to be here yet. I am okay. The "business" stuff is what I am good at. Your tender heart didn't need this. I love you.
Sis