I am home anywhere if He is where I am

Suburban House on a Hill

The Urban Bungalow

 Here’s what I love: I am home anywhere if He is where I am.

Our road from Memorial Day to today has been a winding, up and down one.  Sometimes we walked along soft paths—sunlit and awash with easy breezes.  Other times we trudged through thick mud surrounded with darkness and difficulties.  And one dark day, we fell to our knees, face in the dust, hearts throbbing in shock and grief.  But friends along the path were quick to come to our aid—lifting us up, embracing us, feeding us, and crying with us even as we limped along. 

The month of May found us rejoicing at the sale of our home (finally).  We spent the first week in June day-dreaming over a new-found home that could possibly be ours.  Mid-June left us reeling when that house was bought by someone else.  When that dream was crushed, we trudged through the reality of packing box after box to move into a temporary home with no certainty of where we would go after that.  With broken fingernails and shoulders aching from consistent use of a tape-gun, we limped into July and spent a rainy Independence Day at the movies.

Finally, the big day arrived.  Boxes upon boxes were packed and ready.  Countless friends pitched-in to keep my girls occupied in the midst of the move.  Two trucks came to carry all of our belongings away from our suburban house on a hill across town to “the urban bungalow.”   We passed the neighborhood pool on our way out and passed a discount liquor store on our way in.  The future felt foggy.

Then, a glimmer of light!—Another new house for sale—or rather—the promise of a house.  We met the builder at an empty lot to hear more about it.  Huge trees waved a welcome as we pulled up to the vacant sight of our maybe-home.  It was in the heart of the neighborhood we wanted—a location that could not be beat.  The floor-plan looked promising.  

With no time to lose in the crazy housing market of an up-and-coming area, we pondered and prayed and took the plunge late on a Friday night.  Excitement reigned as we took the girls out to celebrate our new home, which would soon be under construction.  It had been quite the journey following God out of our comfort zone into a new adventure in the city, but we rejoiced at the sight of the new home growing in our mind's-eye and thanked God for bringing us to this point.

And the very next day, none of that mattered anymore.  Moving and rental houses and new construction were of no consequence.  Instead, Saturday, July 13^th found us crying on the kitchen floor of our rental house.  Bill was actually at work that morning, but called to tell me the terrible news that his dad—his hero—was no longer with us.  My dear father-in-law had gone out for a bike ride on a gorgeous summer morning and was suddenly in the arms of Jesus. 

Throats full of sobs, vision blurred by tears, we numbly packed bags to make the 3 hour drive to Louisville to be with Bill’s mom and begin the process of funeral preparations which none of us had done before. 

The path was confusing—the air was thick with sorrow.  But, the road keeps going.  We continue walking one step at a time.  Comforted by friends, buoyed by miraculous, mysterious grace, and strengthened by God Himself.  Though we’ve never been down this road before, we trust God in this wilderness, sure of His presence both day and night and longing for a land He’s told us about.