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?”
later,
deb
2 comments:
As I read your blog I thought of a small pillow Janet has in what we call our dorm room. It says "There's No Place Like Home, Except Grandma's" I might add "There's No Place Like Home, Except Mom's, Except Grandma's". For kids and grandkids Grandma's is the next best thing to that mansion in the sky, which right now they're really not thinking that much about. However, the second they walk or run through the door they feel and begin to experience what they have been looking forward to all the way there. Security, Hope, Happiness, Peace, Love, Blessings upon Blessings. " There's No Place Like Home, Except Grandma's". Maybe even better at least for a while.
Thanks, Ted. It's good to be reminded how special we grandparents are to those little ones. I fear the day when their 'social schedule' not longer includes a trip to grandma's. But for now, I'm like candy to them. Love you, friend. Hope you're feeling fine these days.
Post a Comment