Last week, I packed up my home in Ave Maria, Florida. (If you’re into interior design and a healthy dose of nostalgia, check out my final home tour here!)

This home was a special one. We dreamt about it. I vision boarded it. I sat on a bench across from the lot my house sat on and pictured every room, every gathering, every ordinary day that would unfold there.

It was beautiful. Life in Florida, with my large growing family, was beautiful.

But little did I know, that the house would end up being so much more than a house.

It would become a lesson in detachment.

When things don’t go according to plan
 

You could call me a type-A planner, and diligent rule follower. I really like having plans, and knowing that with time and skill invested, those plans will work out.

That instinct serves me well professionally.

It does not translate nearly as well spiritually.

Because there is no tidy, linear version of holiness. There is no checklist that guarantees peace. No “do these five things and you’re done” formula for surrender.

Yes- staying close to the Eucharist and returning regularly to confession matter deeply. But even those anchors don’t make the spiritual life a one-and-done experience.

With every season, there is a new deepening.
A new attachment revealed.
A new invitation to rely a little less on myself- and a little more on Him.

And that is exactly what happened with my house in Florida.

One day, I’ll share more of the story behind what led us back to Canada (the discernment around that move was extensive). But for now, I want to name a few of the things that moving, and letting go, has quietly illuminated in my life.

1. You don’t take your house with you
 

When I say that we designed this house, we designed this house. I thought about room for a dining table to fit my large family. I thought about space for shared work and play (which really came in handy during Covid). And I thought about a house that would grow and accommodate teenagers, young adults… and even grand babies.

More than once, I said to my husband, “Our grandchildren will visit us in this house.”

I have written in the past about attachment I have around being esteemed. And if I am being honest, having a big beautiful house was definitely tied up in that.

But after living in ten homes in ten months, and learning that while space is of course lovely, there are a multitude of ways a family can thrive in a house, and at the end of the day, a house is just a building, and you don’t get to take it with you when you die…

Which brings me to something wildly more improtant.

2. Your quality of life is significantly impacted by the people around you
 

You can have the most incredible house, in the best neighbourhood… but if you don’t have community, real, authentic community… life simply isn’t as rich.

When we lived in Ave Maria, we developed some very special friendships. The kind of friendships where cherished, priceless memories are made. The kinds of memories that shape you, and change you, and reveal God’s goodness and mercy and sense of humour, and so many other things.

Leaving Ave, I thought we would never find those again.

Spoiler alert: incredible people exist everywhere. Maybe in not as concentrated area as Ave Maria, but beautiful, deep, authentic friendships can absolutely be made, when we make the time and allow for vulnerability.

And these moments deeply impact your quality of life.

3. Memories are priceless (and worth it)
 

When I reflect back on our three years living in Ave Maria, and the three subsequent years being back in Canada… what stands out most are the times with friends and family where I a) felt like I could be most myself and b) the times I learned lessons that shaped who I am today, sometimes with and through others, and sometimes in the intimacy of my quiet interior.

These memories happen, most often, vividly, with people. And good memories that shape you can happen anywhere- they aren’t location or house specific. They are people and experiences specific.

And while it’s painful to leave a group of people I love behind, as cheesy as it sounds, it is better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all.

Experiences shape us, memories shape us, and they are so very worth it.

4. God often loosens our grip before we understand why
 

I would have stayed longer.

Not because God wasn’t good in calling us back to Canada- but because I liked knowing what was next. I liked the sense of continuity. I liked the story as I had imagined it.

But detachment rarely comes with a full explanation.

Sometimes God loosens our grip not because something is bad, but because He is preparing us to receive something we can’t yet see. Something that requires open hands rather than clenched ones.

Looking back, I can see that leaving Florida wasn’t just about geography. It was about trust. About learning - again- that my sense of security cannot be rooted in what I can design, plan, or predict.

It has to be rooted in Him.

I didn’t choose detachment.

But moving has reminded me - again - that the Lord is less interested in our comfort than our freedom. Less interested in our plans than our trust.

I suspect I’m not the only one holding onto something that once felt like “the plan.”

If you’re in a season of letting go- of a place, a role, a relationship, or a version of life you thought would last… know this: detachment isn’t the absence of love.

It’s the doorway to deeper trust.