Peace - that was the other name for home.
I am so thankful for this little house of ours.
When we made the heart wrenching decision to leave our Atlanta home and the dear people with whom we had shared life for eight years in community, not to mention the dozens of other beloved folks that were instrumental in shaping us as individuals and as a family, it was done with some trepidation. What would life on the outside of our Atlanta bubble look like? What would we look like? Where would we land?
It turned out that we landed much further away from the family that we had migrated towards. But that was where the job was and there are times when you have to take the hand your dealt and pray that you make the best of it.
It all happened so quickly. The job offer, the scurrying to find housing, trying to figure out where one should settle when they know absolutely nothing about the city to which they are moving, calculating what we could actually afford compared to what the bank said we could afford....
And then, on one of those days when there is already too much to do than can be accomplished, John happened to look on Craig's List. And there it was.
I can remember the day he called me on his cell phone. I was in St. Louis and he was stealthily creeping around the land and house, trying to get a better sense of what buying this antique might mean and trying to describe it to me, all the while, hoping that no one spotted him and called the authorities.
But, kind of like I did on that first date, I knew somewhere deep down, that this was going to be our house.
And so it was.
And yes, owning a 175 year old house often provides us with constant entertainment, as well as aggravation, but it is such a blessing to be the caretakers of this piece of dirt and this piling of stones. To own a bit of history and to be adding to its story. Again, I will say it...
It is a blessing.
We have no idea how long we will be here in this particular house. Life happens and new opportunities present themselves and you just never no what is coming down the pike.
But it is my sincere prayer that as long as we are here, living out our days and nights, we continue to make this house a home.
That we would infuse this space with grace and forgiveness and joy and light.
And above all, that we would make this a house of love, made real.
Home is the one place in all this world where hearts are sure of each other. It is the place of confidence. It is the place where we tear off that mask of guarded and suspicious coldness which the world forces us to wear in self-defense, and where we pour out the unreserved communications of full and confiding hearts. It is the spot where expressions of tenderness gush out without any sensation of awkwardness and without any dread of ridicule. ~Frederick W. Robertson