The House That Built Me

It is 73 years old. It was built brick by brick and board by board by my grandfather, Jake Ross. It was in our family for all of those 73 years. And then, as if it were just a mere moment, that chapter closed for our family on May 10, 2019.

I must admit. That chapter was so hard to close. So hard. There were tears and there still are, even as I write this.

That house was our family. Our heart. It was the house that built me. Built our family. The number of memories in that house would stretch from here to the moon and back. So much love there. So much trial there. So much of God watching and working. Love hammered into the walls and floorboards.

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Love is Spelled D – O – G

He lived to be 112 years old. Well, in human years. 16 in dog. He was the last remaining part of our girls’ childhood. That sad reality hit us months ago. And it hit us like a ton of bricks. There were tears. Many. There are tears again and there will continue to be, I’m sure. The last part of that chapter in our life went home to Jesus on January 5, 2019. 

Jack came to us on December 27, 2002. He was a late Christmas present for Brooke and Abbey. Santa couldn’t really bring a puppy on his sleigh, or so the note to the girls read.  So, they were given notice from Santa that mom and dad had agreed to let them go and pick out a new puppy.

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Reflections from a Mother’s Heart

And there it was.  I was driving out of the neighborhood, headed to the grocery store, when I spotted it.  It was a familiar darkish-orange and yellow.  It was shaped like a little car.  It was a Cozy Coupe! It was sitting in the front yard of a neighbor and, to top it off, the car was smiling at me.  I immediately had to take a picture.  It brought back a flood of memories.

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