the tree and the stairs

Last weekend when Matt was home I asked him to help move the Christmas tree out of the house.

It is not nearly as easy as it sounds. It's incredibly heavy. And we live on the 4th floor. In previous years we've always found some workers to help. But this year we decided we could do it ourselves. After all, gravity was in our favor, how hard could it possibly be? Ha.

Luckily Mom was around to snap a few photos.


When we move out of our apartment there are many many things I will miss. I love this home. I have hundreds of wonderful memories here. It was, and is, God's perfect provision for us. I will miss it.

But I can confidently say that I will not spend one single minute missing the stairwell that leads to our home.

How many thousands of trips have I made? How many ga-jillion pounds of stuff have I lugged? I've toted children and strollers. Groceries and garbage. Packages and bags and boxes and luggage. (And, of course, Christmas trees.)

I've laughed in the stairwell and cried in the stairwell. I've kissed bruised elbows, cuddled sleeping children, and calmed screaming babies.

Sometimes we sing (a personal favorite: "I've been walking in the stairwell, all the live long day"). Sometimes we dance. Sometimes we trudge, sometimes we race. Sometimes I have a good attitude about it, sometimes I don't.

Taking the tree downstairs was a "good attitude" moment. It was fun to tackle a project with Matt. It felt pretty good to get that tree outside. We set it right beside the entrance to the stairwell, congratulated ourselves, and turned to walk up the stairs. For the thousandth time.

I've lived a lot of life in that stairwell. And I will not miss it.