THE LULU CHRONICLES
|My earthly home.|
Want to know what I’ve done this week? I’ve toured five lake homes and one condo. When I walked into the condo, the walls felt like a slow-moving trash compactor. Each lake house I toured had small yards (which pleased me) but they also had their oddities. Like, who builds a house and puts two bathrooms right next door to each other but none on the second floor? Of course the one thing they each had in common was the million-dollar view out the front window. Ain’t nothing like the calm lapping of water on a shore, unless it’s the calm lapping water on a shore that you own.
The Hubs has been gone almost eleven months now and I thought it was time to start researching what’s out there. I have questions that will someday soon need answers. The biggest is do I stay in this house that Gary and I shared, or do I sell and move on? I’m not ready to answer that yet, but in order to answer it with any discernment at all, I needed to know what the housing market was like these days. I live in a log house on three acres and a pond. I have a two-car garage, and a barn. Oh, and did I mention I live on three acres? Three acres that begs to be mowed every four days?
Gary and I loved this place. We made our home here. We were a family here. A couple here. Our grown kids love coming here with their kids. It’s the family gathering spot, the old homestead. But truth is, I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to move from here either. Actually, I don’t want to be anywhere. Not here. Not there. Nowhere. I don’t want to be here, on this planet, in this universe, this galaxy. The sun gives me no warmth and the moon’s light is wasted on me. For the first time, I can sing the old hymn with my soul bare and my fingers uncrossed. “This world is not my home, I’m just a passing thru, My Treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the blue; The angels beckon me from Heaven’s open door, And I can’t feel at home in this world anymore.”
Nothing fits. Everything is either too large, too small, too nothing. I’m an alien, a two-headed zombie, a giant trying to sit at the kids’ table; I’m wearing stripes with plaids and white shoes after Labor Day. I do not belong here anymore. I don’t speak the language. The air only bruises my lungs now.
This world is not my home. My home died.
Wait! Yes, I truly feel this way. But I can’t trust my feelings. My emotions have wrecked my compass. I will not get through this grief journey obeying my emotions. They can’t be trusted. Had I listened to them for the last eleven months, I would have shaved my head and disappeared. Sorrow is like a snakebite and unless you have the antidote... you die.
The antidote? Well... it’s a splintered cross. It’s an empty tomb. It’s a risen Savior. It’s the whisper in my heart that comes from somewhere not of this world. And, it’s the indescribable flood of the Holy Spirit who wears me like a coat. It’s not feeling like I’m not alone, it’s knowing I’m not alone.
“O, Lord you know I have no friend like you; If heaven weren’t my home, O, Lord what would I do?”