Altar Call -- Opelika-Auburn News
Walter Albritton
May 6, 2001

One more time we have packed our stuff and moved

I can hardly remember how many times my sweet bride has helped me pack our stuff and move to another place. This week we did it one more time, only this time we moved only a half mile away.

It was, as always, an emotional event. We had the best neighbors anyone could ever want. Living between the Jacksons and the Martins was such a blessing for ten wonderful years. But it was time to move on, so we sold our home and moved into a lovely apartment near our church. Since we may have to retire in eight or ten years, we decided to scale back and simplify life for the next few years. Somebody else can cut the grass for awhile.

I am the most fortunate man in the world to have been married to the same precious woman for almost 49 years. We have lived in four different states since we set up housekeeping on East Magnolia in Auburn in 1952. We started out in an upstairs garage apartment. We have lived in rented houses, parsonages owned by our churches, and in homes we were able to purchase with a housing allowance.

Wherever we have gone, my wife has made a comfortable nest for us and used her considerable skills to turn our house into a warm, loving home. She has lived out the beautiful biblical promise, -Whither thou goest, I will go.- And she has done it joyfully, believing that each new place would be the best place we would ever live.

There hangs in our new apartment an attractive, framed poem my wife wrote, which was cross-stitched for her by our daughter-in-law, Karen, our son Timís wife. In the poem Dean shares her philosophy about houses. Since I have been so blessed by her attitude toward houses, I thought today would be a good day to share her poem with you:

Houses Left Behind

Houses both great and small
I have loved them all.
The first had very little room,
The last will come all too soon.
But wherever I have moved my stuff
There was always room enough.
If I have felt pain
It is not the house I blame.
Itís the things I bring
That make my heart sing.
Give me a candle and a match
and cookies by the batch.
I put my flowers all in place,
Comb my hair and wash my face.
So houses are all the same,
It matters not what kind of frame.
To leave a house is sad,
But to enter another makes me glad.
So fill a house with lots of giving
And it will matter not where you are living.

Yíall come by when you can -- and bring some fried chicken. We would love to show you our new digs.