What Is Home?

Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me.  My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you?  And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.  You know the way to the place where I am going.

John 14: 1-4

I sit in the office, brain trying to wrap itself around what to write, and I allow a slow-moving, slow-rolling wave of past experiences wind its way through my mind's screen.  Images of childhood, first days of school, climbing trees, swimming.  Images of high school, images colored in instagram sepia because the memories seem to come from a place long ago and far away.

I sit in the office and look around at the misplaced, the off-the-walls, the stacked, signs of work that's going on in this house.  Work going on to make it ready to sell.  Sell it so that we can move.

Once again.  Where the army takes us.

We have a list of everything that needs to be done to the house.  For the house, because this work has been more of a labor of love and we have gotten to know this house intimately.  We want her to shine; we want her to feel attractive and generous, and fulfilled.  We want her to feel needed.

Did I say 'her'?

Yes, this house has become a member of the family.  And we've only been here a year.  Does that happen to you?  I walk her familiar rooms and run my hands along her walls and woodwork.  I know her scrapes and scratches.  I heal her wounds.

My husband speaks of her construction.  She has good bones.  He says.  She was well built.  He says.  I watch him sanding walls that have been bumped - sand and touch, sand and touch.  He talks to her as he works - cajoling, soothing, laughing.  He wants her at her best.  I watch him dress her up with crown - it is elegant and fitting.  I help him lay tile - rugged and wonderful, right next to the gloss of dark wood.  I am amazed at the transformation and I feel the house breathe solid and strong.  Contrast between rustic and sheen.  I watch my husband custom craft and fit so that the new blends perfectly with the old.  Nothing shouts I am here, look at me - the beauty is in the whole, not the parts.

I sit in the office and look around at the red ladder, and the stacked-and-ready-to-be-installed door handles, and the door frame that is only half-painted.  This too shall pass.  Soon, she will be at her company best - all dressed up - eager to please.  And we will sell her so that we can move.

Once again.  Where the army takes us.

My sister once asked me about our many moves.  She said it was overwhelming to her - to think about setting up a new house in a new place - on a regular basis.  She said it would be hard to make all those new places into a home.  And she was right.  A house is only a house (even if I do insist on calling it a 'her').  It is only a place.  A building.  Home is the living that goes on inside the house.

Home is family, and love, fighting and making up.  It is shared decisions and planning.  It is working together on the house in order to sell it.  It is my daughter who hears "Neighbor Day" instead of Labor Day and insists that we go talk to the neighbors.  It is thanksgiving.  It is sweet dreams and security.

A little over two thousand years ago, Jesus left a home he loved to light our way in the darkness, to redeem us, to show us the Way, the Truth, and the Life.  He is preparing a new home for us - one that He bought to give to us.  And He bought it at a steep price.  It won't need to be spiffed up and polished; it is already perfect.

Our home will forever be with Him, wherever that takes us.

Linking with:  Three-Word Wednesday, #TellHisStory

Inside This House

And into whatsoever house ye enter, first say, Peace be to this house.

Luke 10:5

Inside this house 

Memories of years past, 

People and parties, 

Dreams, 

Growing up, aging and ageless.  

Inside this house, 

Out with the old in with the new, 

The gently used, 

The hand me downs, 

The treasured.  

Inside this house,
A little frayed at the edges,
Comfortable and comforting,
Placed lovingly in seasoned spaces.
Savored.

What was empty, filled.
What was longed for, received.
What was silent, murmuring and rustling with life.
Family life.
Home life.

God Bless this House

Heavenly Father, Thank you for the blessings you give us every day.  Thank you for this home, for this neighborhood, for friends and family.  Most especially, thank you for your Son.

Covenant of Peace

Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed," says the LORD, who has compassion on you. 

Isaiah 54:10

It has been an eventful two weeks.  We signed for our house.  We installed a new floor, and painted two rooms.  We handled a couple of plumbing issues.  We moved our things from the rental to the new home.  We cleaned, patched, painted and mowed at the rental.  Our service provider for internet and tv said he'd have to dig under the driveway for installation.  We canceled, called around and found someone else.  We are now hooked up.  We had the truck inspected in order to get it registered.  It failed.  The people who worked on it, did not do the job correctly.  We titled and licensed the truck.  Little things - nothing like shaking mountains or removable hills - but enough to fill our days and make for uninterrupted sleep through nights too short to completely replenish.  

Tired.  Sore.  A little bit grumpy.

We are in a beautiful house.  We have met the neighbors; they are wonderfully friendly.  Household stuff is getting organized and put away.  Our dining room set that has been unavailable for the last year is being assembled, cleaned, and readied for use.  Moving furniture, hanging curtains and pictures, deciding on bathroom towels and rugs.... Every house we've lived in has had its own personality - its own needs - its own way to show off.  The challenge is to discover that personality, those needs - to facilitate the making of a home.

House and home - two different things.  A house is a shelter, a base of operations, a physical place.  A home is a refuge, a sanctuary - comfortable, safe, efficient.  We have just moved from a house to a home.  Like a covenant of peace.  Just a little more work to go...

Heavenly Father, thank you for our new home.  Help us to make it a place of comfort and peace for all - for our family and for our guests.  Help us to recognize you in every part of our lives and our world and to put you first in everything we do.  Thank you.

Peace in the Valley

Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me.

Revelation 3:20

I held his hand in the twilit room - his parchment-colored, papery-soft hand with the perfectly trimmed nails.  He was sleeping.  Gravity tugged peacefully at the age-folds of his skin, pulling them downward, toward the bed, to pool at the place his head and pillow met.  He was sleeping.  His hand was cool to my touch - my recently hurrying, catch-the-airplane-drive-in-from-the-airport touch.  Calm.  His chest rose and fell in time with the machinery in the room, the quiet room, soft whirrs and muted beeps melting on the edge of hearing.  The edge of consciousness.  He was sleeping.

Our family had gathered in this place to see him, my Uncle Norman, to tell him how much he meant to us, to let him know how much we loved him.  Before he slept forever.  He was old.  He was tired.  He was ready.  We had been called, arriving before it was too late.  Urgency in the travel.  Come.  Urgency in the visit.  We heard the knocking - the knocking at Uncle Norman's door.  Come.  Stay for awhile.  Come.

Well, I'm tired and weary but I must toil on
Till the Lord comes and calls me calls me away, oh Lord!

He was sleeping.  I held his hand.  I thought of years past.  Years of vacations to Indiana - to my parents' home - their roots.  Our roots.  Uncle Norman loved to fish.  He had a smile a mile wide.  He laughed from deep inside his soul, and it made his belly shake.  He taught us how to waterski - my sisters and me - first up with two skis, later with one.  Flying across the lake - like waterbugs - he said.  We were hardly big enough to keep the skis on the water when we started - skittering like waterbugs.

Where the morning is bright and the Lamb is the light
And the night, the night is as fair as the day.

I had started to sing, quietly - one of my favorite hymns.  Holding his hand in that quiet room.  We were a family of songs.  Soon, the room was full of music - melody and harmony blending with the whirrs and beeps - whisper-soft and beautiful.

There will be peace in the valley for me some day.
There will be peace in the valley for me, oh Lord I pray.

He opened his eyes, lids barely moving.  There were tears, tears of yearning.  His lips moved with the words.  We were always a singing family.

 No more sadness, no sorrow, oh Lordy no troubles I see.
There will be peace, peace in the valley for me.

He squeezed my hand, gently, weakly.  I felt his weariness.  I felt him tired.  He used to call me Jannie - even when I'd had a child of my own.  Jannie.  He put my little sister on his lap in the car and had her steer - on the country road, the lane to his house, the house he'd built with his hands.  They giggled that car right into the ditch.  And then laughed it out again.

The bear will be gentle, and the wolf will be tame,
And the lion will lay down with the lamb, oh yeah!

Years before, he had volunteered to serve his country.  When his country called.  He joined the Navy and left home and family to go to war.  I could see the ghostlines of the old tattoo on his arm.  His still arm resting across his chest, barely moving with his every breath.  I held his hand and his lips moved with the singing.

The beasts of the wild will be led by a Child
And I'll be changed, changed from this creature I am.

He was the oldest of seven.  Farm-raised, farm-strong.  Once upon his childhood, he'd had an older brother, too.  But his brother had passed - from a long-ago disease that in today's world would have been a mere inconvenience.  A disease that, in the old days, meant death for a ten-year-old boy.

There will be peace in the valley for me some day.
There will be peace in the valley for me, oh Lord I pray.

He took us to Coney Island - amusement park in the big city.  He took home-movies - my big sister and I wore matching outfits.  Jungle shorts with alligator shirts.  Matching outfits in different colors.  The movies - full of laughter - like my Uncle.  He enjoyed.  Everything.

No more sadness, no sorrow, oh Lordy no troubles I see.
There will be peace, peace in the valley for me.

I held his hand - the hand I remembered when we played cards.  We played Rook, and Hearts, and Euchre.  Whenever the family gathered - the Aunts and Uncles - in-laws and out-laws.  Cousins.  Gathered around the kitchen table - some in, some out.  We learned by sitting on stools behind the grown-ups - the city cousins behind the country.  Watching.  My grandmother thought my uncles were really drinking iced tea - Uncle Norman loved his beer...

And now he was here.  In this home.  Tired.  Weary.  Medication keeping his pain at bay.  It was almost Christmas and his family had gathered.  We were afraid to leave, afraid we'd miss something.  His last moments, his last thoughts.  He squeezed my hand.  It's ok.  You came.  Be a family.  Celebrate.  I could see the hint of a smile - a shadow of the laughter I'd known, the joy I'd remembered.  He was there, my Uncle Norman, shackled to a body grown too old to function.  He was there, ready to answer the door, the door to the Valley of Peace.  He was ready to go home.

We got the phone call on Christmas day.  Uncle Norman passed, peacefully in his sleep.

Today I need to remember my Uncle.  Brother, father, uncle, son, veteran.  Child of God.  Called home on Christmas day - a gift - peace in the valley.

There the flow'rs will be blooming, the grass will be green
And the skies will be clear and serene
The sun ever shines, giving one endless beam
And the clouds there will ever be seen

That Red House

My father, if the prophet had told you to do some great thing, would you not have done it?   How much more, then, when he tells you, 'Wash and be cleansed'!

2 Kings 5:13

Obedience is not exactly my second nature.  Ask my husband.  Ask my mother.  They both tell stories of my opposition and defiance.  I have to say, I don't even recognize the person in these stories.  Well... maybe I do... a little.  It's just that I think too much.  Yeah, that's it.  I'm too smart to be obedient.  I'm more purposeful than other people.  I think things through - I weigh the options - I do things (or don't do them) for good reason - my reason.  Some rules just don't apply to me.  Sure.  And if you believe all of that, I can probably convince you to buy that All-Cure Elixir I happen to have in my little ol' medicine wagon.  Step right up, folks...

So, we're buying a house.  I didn't like the process of selling our house before moving.  I can totally understand the reason for real estate agents - to keep buyers and sellers from shouting matches or worse as they negotiate price, inspection work, repairs, closing dates, etc.  We're in the middle of it now - paperwork, contracts, addendums.  OMG - way too many people with way too many sign here's and initial there's.  I keep reminding myself to keep the end in sight - we will have a place of our own once again.  A retreat.  A refuge.  A place to rejuvenate, readjust, relax.  

This house buying thing has been kind of a voyage.  We started off thinking we wouldn't buy for the next two years.  We would stay in post housing.  Everything was set up; the timing was perfect.  We would only be in temporary lodging for a little over a week before move-in.  Until we got the phone call.  The one saying our post house wouldn't be available for another 25 days.  Twenty-five days!  That was not going to work - not with jobs starting.  Not with our dogs - no yard for another month??  We'd already moved our household goods onto the truck and into temporary storage.  This would mean moving it all four more times - No way!  So - a'hunting we went for a rental out in the community.  Which we found.

And soon found that we were spoiled rotten.  No garage.  No fence.  The rooms weren't convenient to our lifestyle.  We didn't like the flooring.  The windows were fogged.  There wasn't enough storage...

Believe me, if there was something wrong, we found it.  Spoiled rotten.  

There were a lot of things we liked about living off post.  We had no fence, but we were on two acres of land - part woods, and part grass.  The woods were gorgeous in the fall - showing off beautiful colors.  Snow, when it came, transformed those two acres.  I took lots of pictures - of snow, of spring flowers - even weeds as they came in and spread through the grass - purple flowers, blue and white blossoms.  Even dandelions.  We found a wonderful church with a vibrant membership - truly reaching out in the community with a variety of missions and programs.  We liked the area.  We liked the location - about two hours from a lot of things - beach, city, country, mountains.  We liked the climate.  So we started thinking about a forever home - a place to retire.  Just one more move.  A place of our own again.

We've been naming the houses we liked.  First, there was the Boat House.  By a lake.  Just before we put an offer in, we found that the owners had accepted another.  One down.  Then there was the Gingerbread House.  We saw a lot of potential in this one - but it would also take some up-front funds to make it do-able for us.  We offered.  They countered.  We countered back.  They countered back.  It wasn't going where we needed - and we decided we didn't like it enough to go any higher - so this one dropped out.  Then there was the Red House.  What a beauty.  It had everything we wanted - everything we needed.  And the price had just been reduced.  We offered.  I prayed.  I intended to ask God about His intentions for us and hopefully this house - to communicate a direction to us.  But my prayer never got that far....  

Me:  God, I really, really want that red house. 

Crystal Clear Voice in My Head:  I really want you to write.

Convicted.  Ok.  I'll write.  Obediently.  And trust that God knows what he's doing with these houses...  That's when I started being faithful to this blog - 

In the meantime, the Red House offer was countered.  I called my realtor to accept and she told me the sellers had accepted another  - one that had come in about 30 days prior to ours, but had been held up for whatever reason.  In the space of a couple of hours, we had lost that Red House.  I knew, then, that it wasn't the home God was preparing for us.  It broke my heart a little - but it was clearly not meant to be.  And I continued to write. 

So we found another one.  We called it the Castle House.  It, too, would take some work and we knew that price was a bit of an issue.  It had been on the market for a year, but the sellers weren't coming down.  So we waited - our agent went on vacation for about three weeks - and we waited.  We were ready, when she returned, to put an offer in and see if it would be accepted.  

God is kind of funny.  He doesn't always do things the way we expect.  Way back in the Old Testament, there was a guy named Naaman, who was commander of the army of the King of Aram.  He had leprosy.  So, from a captive Israelite, he heard of the prophet Elisha.  He heard incredible things about the power of this prophet - or rather, the power this prophet had been given through his God - the God of Israel.  This captive convinced Naaman that Elisha could heal him of his leprosy.  Naaman went to his King with the hope he would be released to get healed.  The King of Aram wrote a letter to the King of Israel - telling him how he valued Naaman and wished him to be made whole.  It's almost comical - the miscommunication.  The King of Israel read the letter and couldn't understand why the King of Aram thought he could heal anyone.  He wasn't a healer.  He was a King....  Apparently, he was so distressed by King Aram's missive that he tore his robes - ranting that he wasn't God, he couldn't bring people back to life.  He figured the King of Aram was trying to pick a fight with him.

Elisha heard about the letter.  He knew he was the healer.  He sent for Naaman to come to him.  So Naaman went.  He never actually saw Elisha.  The prophet sent him a message through his servant, to bathe seven times in the Jordan and he would be healed.

This is where God's sense of humor really shines.  Naaman was angry with the message.  He had in his head that being healed by a prophet of the great God of Israel would at least involve a laying on of hands - some kind of ritual and incantation.  He thought he would, at minimum, see the prophet face to face.  He even complained about the choice of the Jordan River - saying there were other, better bodies of water he could use - cleaner ones that would make more sense to cleanse him of his disease.

It was Naaman's servant who spoke the words that made sense - that convinced him to do what Elisha had said.  It was simple, really.   My father, if the prophet had told you to do some great thing, would you not have done it?   How much more, then, when he tells you, 'Wash and be cleansed'!  

The Castle House.  The day our agent returned from her vacation, we were going to make an offer on the Castle House.  The day came and I went online to look at the pictures one last time before contacting her.  We had just driven by the house again the day before - rechecking the neighborhood, the property, and everything.  I went online to look at it - and it was gone from my listings.  From the listings our realtor sends out.  Could someone else have made an offer while we waited?  No.  It wasn't there because the sellers had decided to increase the price during our wait.  It was now, definitely, out of our reach.  God isn't always subtle.

Then we found the French Quarter House.  The house we are in the middle of buying.  It is everything we wanted - everything we needed.  It is closer to our church.  It will take less upfront work than any of the other houses we looked at.  It fulfills my need for unique.  I can picture us there; I picture writing there, cleaning there, cooking and entertaining.  A home.  A refuge.  A retreat.  We're supposed to close in June.

Hmmm... I really want you to write.  It's not really a great thing - a laying-on-of-hands-blare-or-the-trumpet-thing.  It's really very simple - like Wash and be cleansed.  Oh!  And guess what color the French Quarter House is?  Yup, it's red.

Thank you, God, for taking such good care of us.  Help us go to you with our questions.  Help us to listen to you and to obey.  You are an amazing teacher. 

You Are My Home

Therefore a man leaves his father and mother and embraces his wife. They become one flesh.

Genesis 2:24  The Message

I am a military wife.  I am proud of my husband and the choices he has made to serve his country and to provide for his family,  He has been deployed three times - away from us,  his family, three times.  Many have handled more separation; many have handled more separation with younger families and little or not support.  Even so, even though we understood the circumstances, even though we were able to communicate on a regular basis, even though we knew the limits of the time we would be apart, and even though we had amazing support through family, church, and my own work - even so - deployment is difficult.  Worry is always lurking - worry for safety - prayers for wholeness - physical, mental, and spiritual.  The families left behind find ways to pick up the slack left by the absence of one of their members.  Find ways to attend to the emptiness, the missing, the hole in their everydays.  Lives get smaller, or busy-er.  Lives are torn apart, or pulled closer.

I heard something the other day.  You are my home.  So true.  It allowed me to better understand my husband's deployments - our separations.  Sometimes, in the moments, it's too hard, too close to label.  I'm one of those people who believe if you can name it, admit to it, take responsibility for it, then you can better determine how to handle/change/fix it.  You just can't fix everything.  At least, not without the waiting. This poem is my label.  The part of me without my daughter, without my job - the isolated connected-body-and-soul-to-my-husband part of me that just wanted him near.

You Are My Home

She tried them on

Like new clothes

Words

In her mind

Treading softly

Through cathedral caverns

Of memories and 

Threads of conversation

You are my home.

Not lost

Not afraid

Not timid

Outside of herself

She roamed

In the needs of others

Winding and twisting

Like a mountain road

You are my home.

Busy

Hovering, pushing

Thoughts and images

to the periphery

Away from living 

Away from yearning

Moment by moment

Today

You are my home.

She accomplished.

She did

What had to be done.

As anyone would.

Not special.

Not strong.

Leaning 

Like a tree in the wind

You are my home.

Soon

Boots on the ground, soon.

The hardest part

The looking-forward part

The can't-forget-him part

The getting-ready part

Anticipation

And restless waiting

"You are my home."

She breathes to her soldier

Upon his return

From far-off

From far-wide

From worlds away.

Bodies grown together

Like a lifetime.

No letting go.

"You are my home," he whispers back.

I am constantly amazed at the works of God.  I don't believe in coincidence.  We are always in His divine plan.  After writing this post, I was looking through and catching up with my friends on facebook.  I would like to share this video - posted by a friend in Texas.  Timely and beautiful - called Shadow Dance.  

Heavenly Father. you are an awesome God.  Thank you for small reminders, everyday, of you, you who are in charge and in whose hands we live.  Thank you for my husband - for the gift of his being home.  

Bloom

That person is like a tree planted by streams of water,

which yields its fruit in season

and whose leaf does not wither—

whatever they do prospers.

Psalm 1:3

"Mom, it's purple flowers.  The tree."  We were driving to church.  My daughter was being her observant self.  She has been extra vigilant lately, watching the news in the mornings - keeping her eyes and ears open for the daily forecast.  Definitely a warm-weather girl, she was really excited to get into her shorts drawer last week - shorts and t-shirts.  And sandals.  Funny girl -  she shows me how the pink in the plaid of her shorts matches the pink shirt she's picked out, that matches the pink sandals... Where did she get that (I'm rolling my eyes, here...)

One of the discussions my husband and I have on a fairly regular basis, is about where we are going to retire.  This last move was a hard one.  We left a house we loved, a house we had worked on - made to fit our wants and needs - to start over again in a new place.  I remember talking with my sister about the impending move.  She was telling me that the thought of moving boggled her - having to set up a house, establish - new friends, new schools, new church, new, new.  Silly me.  I told her that home isn't a place - it's not the bricks, wood, plumbing, and yard.  It's not the house.  It's the people - the family; it's bringing out and putting up the keepsakes that travel from place to place.  The pictures, the books, the familiar...

So, we moved into a house - a rental.  And we should be happy.  We have our stuff - we both have jobs.  My daughter has been able to establish a schedule that she likes.  It's not a small house.  It has a big yard - with trees, and grass.  It has a big driveway.  It's not too close to neighbors; it's not too far from shopping and amenities.  It's in a safe neighborhood.  We thought - two years.  We can make it work for two years.  Yet....

We've been struggling with this house.  It doesn't belong to us.  We can't change the things we want to change.  There is no flow - the rooms are choppy and isolated.  We have made the house work for us, but it doesn't fit us...  Everyday, we think two years...

We love this area.  It fulfills a lot of our family wants and needs.  I like four seasons.  The area has four seasons.  My husband and daughter like warmth.  Spring, summer and fall stay fairly warm - winter is short.   It's close to the things we need - a good church, a military base, a good school district, active adult programs for my daughter, proximity to interesting locations - the beach, historical sites, cities.  The people are friendly.  There are lots of outdoor recreation opportunities... We love this place.

We're in the process of looking for a house to buy.  Something that fits.  Something that will be a home for us - a place of refuge.  These trees fascinate me.  I was impressed with their fall colors last autumn.  I enjoyed the tracery of their bare branches during the winter.  I relish the neon green of the leaves that are now pushing through the spring buds.  The variety and intensity of the colors blooming amaze me.

About two states ago, as I was leaving a 'dream job' for our move to Texas, I was told to bloom where I was planted.  That's what these trees are doing - glorious leaves and blossoms.  That's what we need to do here - God is preparing a place for us - a sanctuary.  We may find it soon, we may not.  Our job, my job, is to bloom where we're planted.  Home is not this house - home is us.  It's time to appreciate those purple flowers with new eyes.  Eyes of gratitude.  And praise.

Thank you, God.  For providing us with this home, this place, this opportunity.  Help me to choose joy.