Glimmers of spring sprout all around us. The season of Eastertide is here as we celebrate Christ’s resurrection. For some, though, the springtime months are also marked with grief. Loss and heartache fresh and close. Wherever you find yourself this season, join us as we continue to explore the theme of grief—in all its multi-faceted forms. Here is Julianne’s contribution:
Dear Del Rio,
Do you remember the first time we walked through your doors? I remember like it was yesterday. It felt like coming home. We saw character and potential; we could tell your bones were good.
Your walls, though, were dijon yellow—a bit too bold for our taste. So before we moved in, my dad came to help us paint. I chose a soft blue-grey—a tone that matched what I hoped you would become: a safe haven; a refuge; our home. And as our rollers smoothed on fresh paint and transformed the space, I didn’t yet know all your walls would witness.
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If walls could laugh, you laughed with us. TV shows watched, stories swapped, happy accidents experienced. We laughed deeply—in bellyfuls—in ways that were so good for our souls.
If walls could celebrate, you celebrated with us. Goals met, degrees earned, surprise parties thrown. We ate the cake, clinked the glasses, tossed the confetti, gave the gifts. We marked and recounted the faithfulness of God all along the way.
If walls could love, you loved with us. Dancing in the kitchen, arguing in the family room, flirting through the hallways, listening on the back porch. We learned what it means for us to live out “I love you” and to choose each other over and over again.
If walls could worry, you worried with us. Unexpected challenges, glaring insecurities, late night what-ifs. We tried not to worry about tomorrow; sometimes, tomorrow got the best of us.
If walls could weep, you wept with us. Swollen eyes, broken hearts, significant loss. When friends moved, when family members died, when harsh criticism came, when prayers remained unanswered, when the news cycle felt relentless, when we wished we could be there but needed to be here—the tears were raw and soothing, flowing from the deepest part of our hearts.
If walls could pray, you prayed with us. For the hurting and the hungry, for the sick and the vulnerable, for the unhoused and the refugee, for the outcast and the marginalized, for our church and our family. For our community and our country and our world. Occasionally—reluctantly—even for our enemies. Most of all, we prayed for the grace and guidance to actually do our prayers; to act justly and love mercy and walk humbly with God each day.
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For almost nine years, you watched us live our life. The ups and downs, twists and turns of regular, ordinary days. You gave us space to grow and wrestle and change and shift from who we were then to who we are now. Like a secure cocoon, you held us close and bore witness to our becoming.
Within your walls we developed greater resilience, joy, compassion, courage, and character. And as we prepare to walk out your doors one last time, we are not the same people who walked in. Thanks be to God.
With grateful hearts, we will soon sign on dotted lines and hand off house keys. We will then step into a new space where I hope we will continue to be shaped and formed for the better.
But for now—once again—we are weeping; weeping over the loss of all we etched on your walls. Wishing we could somehow bring you with us.
This is a grief we are choosing. Do you think it still counts?
Our tears are sweet and salty, bitter and rich, streaming with both sorrow and gratitude, memories and longings, hopes realized and deferred. Even though it is good and right to leave, it is so hard to say goodbye. And Del Rio? I can’t help but wonder if you’re weeping with us.
With Deepest Love + Gratitude,
Julianne
Julianne Clayton is a spiritual director, podcast host {check out the remind{h}er podcast on Apple or Spotify!}, writer, and speaker who helps others remember God's presence, love, and call in the middle of it all. She lives in Florida with her husband, Brad, and their two dogs and cat. Visit www.withjulianne.com to connect and learn more!
© Julianne Elaine Clayton 2026
You took me back Julianne! We sold our home in 2022 where we mostly raised our 3 sons for 26 years. Those old many colored walls hold more regrets than I wish. But you’ve reminded me of the beautiful formation that took place as well.
My grief of leaving is often filled with joy these days. We choose a family with 3 young children to buy our home. The parents are teaching their kiddos to know and love Jesus and grow in wisdom and stature as well.
Thank you for a beautiful tribute to a season of life lived in those blue-grey walls. The memories will live on in your hearts forever. Enjoy your new home! 🏠
Really loved this article. So thoughtful and oh how beautiful this line is, "This is a grief we are choosing. Do you think it still counts?" Yep, it still counts. 💞