Matt told us about Osama bin Laden’s death. We’d just gotten back from a spontaneous date night to Louie’s Chinese Restaurant where we’d talked about the baby room and eaten a lot of pork eggplant.

I immediately flipped on the TV just as reporters were speculating about Obama’s upcoming announcement. Could it be true? Could Osama really be dead? And, how did I feel about it?

I didn’t feel much on Sunday night. I soaked in the news, amazed 10 years have almost passed since that sad day in September. But the next morning, when I watched clips of crowds across the nation celebrating, I felt so confused. I had to work hard at holding back tears.

It seems like a lot of people feel similarly to me. Bible verses and quotes sprung up on Facebook in a matter of hours; all expressing different opinions about how we as people, and as Christians, should respond to OBL’s death. In some cases, the conversation began to get divisive.

Here’s what I posted to a friend’s wall, in response to his frustration over people using scripture and quotes to express their opinions about vengeance and justice:

“I have held back from posting quotes and scripture today, although I have almost done so several times. I wanted something to help me express my emotions over this death. My emotions are complex- a combination of relief, pride, and deep sadness. I am not sad OBL is dead, but I’m not happy either. I don’t understand the celebrations because they seem to imply that we “won.” We didn’t win. We lost a lot of lives. I am thankful for a Redeemer, and thankful that He is who wins. That being said, I don’t judge those who are celebrating. We all process and express our emotions differently. To each his own.”

I’m curious what others have felt in the last 48 hours. Pride? Confusion? Sadness? Anger? Relief?

I am soaking up our last month on 39th Street. A surprising sadness is creeping in now that we have closed escrow. The painting and boxing has started, helping me to look forward to moving into our new house. But I am also wallow in the bittersweet emotions of leaving an apartment we love very much.

We didn’t really choose our little place. Like many decisions over the last five years, our apartment was the only option. It was a hot July day, just weeks before school was supposed to start. We’d spent a few days in Sacramento looking for a place to live but nothing was really panning out. As we were leaving town, we passed by a beautiful old home on 39th Street. A “For Rent” sign caught my attention. A few days later, once we were back in Orange County, I sent Sharon to look at the inside.

“It’s really cute,” she said. “The kitchen is kind of strange, but I think you’ll like it.” And, we have. In early August 2006 we signed a lease before ever seeing the inside. I no longer notice the lovely 80′s floral wallpaper in our kitchen.

I have filled our apartment with loving hand-me-downs from various family members, along with a few Craig’s List purchases. I won’t lie- I’m happy to soon get rid of some items that are worn and dated. But what I’m not ready to let go of are the memories. Furniture may physically fill our apartment, but it’s our friends and family who have truly filled our home. They have stopped by hundreds of times for pizza dinners or a glass of wine; nights watching Grey’s Anatomy or opening a bible together.

I few days ago I left the house early for work.  Leaves cover the lawn at this time of year, the dew gluing them to our grass. A fog had settled around the huge brick church on the corner. The street was eerily quiet. Usually cars and hospital buses rush by. Instead bells welcomed the day. When I returned home tonight the bells were again ringing, the street again quiet.

These bells are a familiar part of our routine. They ring longer at the end of the day, sometimes chiming familiar hymns that I hum along to while sitting on the porch. I hear them from the bathroom when I’m late for work, and I’m reminded to move faster.

We are entering a new phase of life; where memories will be made, neighbors will pass by with their dogs, and new sounds and light will bounce off the walls in a rhythm of eventual familiarity. But, until that house starts to feel like home I will allow a tiny bit of sadness to sit in my heart because with it comes a gratefulness for all that we’ve been given in our past and our future.

The rain didn’t stop falling all morning. From the warmth of my bed I listened to it patter, smiling at it’s confident tune that reminded me I had nowhere to be, no one to impress, no deadlines to meet. Nine o’clock turned quickly to eleven o’clock, as I settled deeper into my flannel sheets, pouring through Real Simple magazine. Jonathan put his head right where my elbow met my side. He didn’t move much, besides occasionally stirring as if to remind me he was still there. I softly ran my fingers through his hair.

These are the moments I long for on cold early mornings when a day’s worth of responsibilities loom. These are the waffles for breakfast and hot chocolate in the afternoon days that don’t come often enough. So, when they do, I find myself whispering, “don’t go…don’t go.”

photo credit: ancawonka

I believe baking can soothe the soul. I believe a smoothie a day keeps the doctor away. I believe flannel sheets are one of the best items we’ve purchased for ourselves. I believe in answering people honestly when they ask how I’m doing. I believe in a God who doesn’t play fair. I believe that same God knows what He’s doing. I believe in cream cheese frosting. I believe fantasy football is a guy’s way of keeping in touch with his friends. I believe in keeping my cell phone on vibrate. I believe marriage has made me a better person. I believe in wearing over SPF 30 on my face at all times. I believe in taking public transportation. I believe in HULU (!) I believe friends should ask a lot of each other, and give a lot to each other. I believe in spontaneous dinner parties. I believe we assume too much, judge too often, and forgive too little. I believe in constantly working to fix those things.

Part one can be found here.