Our Dwelling Place

Easter Sunday.

So many Easter Sundays, spent in our little home on Wornom Drive, in the barely-above-sea-level community of Seaford, VA.

The five of us – my four kids and I – moved to this home sometime in 2011, though I couldn’t tell you when – spring, summer, winter, fall – I have no remembrance of the season.

But I distinctly remember how we landed in this home.

It was maybe a year, maybe a little longer, after our lives had been shattered by my ex-husband’s arrest for unfathomable crimes that shook our family to its very core.

And, we were still reeling.

Our church – our wonderful, amazing church family – had given us a home in their parsonage, while we tried to figure out what to do and where to go.  However, the answers to those questions were slow in coming – the year had been filled with meetings with lawyers and trips to the jail for visitation, and court hearings and sentencing, and trying to navigate how to parent my four kids who were each grieving and hurting in a variety of ways, while working 3 part-time jobs to support us.

There is much, that I don’t remember.

But when our church called a new senior pastor, we knew that it was time to leave the parsonage so that the new pastor and his family would be able to live there – but we had no idea where we would go.

I searched for days…weeks, even, I think.  I looked into apartments, but ran into the issue of cost – I could only afford a two-bedroom apartment, but none of the apartment complexes would rent to me, because there were five of us – apparently there is a law or code that prevented us from becoming renters, based on our family size, because each place rejected our application with that explanation.  I looked at a couple of rental homes – but all were out of my price range.  I was very close to renting a run-down trailer home in a not-great area of town, because time was running out.

My dear friend Suzanne, on a couple of different occasions, picked me up and drove me up and down the roads of Seaford, looking for rental properties – back and forth, crossing this peninsula on a peninsula on a peninsula – I was close to giving up all hope, but Suzanne never once gave up hope.  She was not only certain we would find something, but that it would be in my kid’s school district so that they would not have to change schools.

On one of those drives, she saw an older gentleman that she knew, sitting on his front porch, across from a little home that was for rent.  We stopped and talked to him for a while, getting information from him.  Again – I recall so few of the details – but somehow, that conversation led us not to that home that was for rent, but instead to a home owned by and right next door to Zion United Methodist Church – less than a mile from our church, that was coming open soon.

One thing led to another – though again, it is foggy – and through the assistance of our church staff making contact with Zion’s church staff, they accepted our request to rent our little home on Wornom Drive.

We had a home.

The day we moved in was nothing short of amazing – a tremendous number of friends – our church family – from Seaford Baptist Church packed, loaded, transferred, unloaded, unpacked and set up our new home.  Another group of friends stayed behind and cleaned the SBC parsonage as items were taken out.  And there in the midst of the organized chaos was Garrett Fisher – Suzanne Fisher’s husband.  He was the organizer and the director, calling out directions – if you know Garrett at all, you can probably picture the scene in your mind.  When the activity stopped for the night, we were entirely settled – beds were built, including new bunk beds – sheets were on beds, books unpacked, dishes unpacked, pictures were hung, clothes were put into dressers, toiletries and towels in bathroom cabinets – and, our entire pantry was stocked with food that they had brought to get us restarted.

And, when everyone had left for the night – and I was alone in our new home with my four kids – I crawled into bed and wept many tears – tears of grief, tears of fear about the future and how I was going to raise my kids and provide for them – but also tears of tremendous relief.

We were home.

The years that followed were hard – but they were also, oh my soul, so very good.  In that little house, we put our lives back together again.  There were rough days – but there were so many more good days, than bad.  This little home is where my kids grew up – I was still working 2 and 3 jobs for a bit; so I’d leave the house early in the morning and not return until late at night – so, they quickly learned to be responsible; to cook for themselves, to do laundry, to forge my signature on their permission forms for school.

Desperate times call for desperate matters.

This little home is also where Keli suffered through a terrible bout of mono, where Tim broke the plate-glass window with a rock, where Mark and his buddies played ping-pong in the garage and filmed the most hysterical history project films ever, and where Bethany taught herself how to play piano.  It’s the site of several prom preparations, Thanksgivings, Christmases and birthday parties.  It’s where nearly every one of the four, at one time or another, “bumped” into cars or scraped cars as they learned to back out of the crooked driveway.  It’s where my youngest boy refused to sleep anywhere except the couch by the front door, for the longest time, so he could “protect” us, should an intruder enter.  It’s in the neighborhood where I walked mile after mile after mile, preparing for a half marathon, and eventually losing 70 pounds.  It’s where intense games of kitchen soccer took place and probably 1,798 games of Mario Kart were completed.  It’s where our dog Biscuit played catch and practiced tricks and begged for snacks and grew old.

Eventually, through God’s grace and mercy, I was offered a job that allowed me to work from home, at which point I was able to quit my other jobs and turn our dining room into an office of sorts.  It’s where I learned how to do my job, and made coworker friends across Skype and email and teleconferences – through which, eventually, I met the wonderful man who would become my husband.

Oh, friends – it was so much more than a little 3-bedroom, 1-bathroom house.  It was our home.

It was the place where we learned to live again.  It was the place where we often turned to laughter, because truly, laughter is good, good medicine.  It is the place where we also grieved – each of us differently – but in a safe place.  Each day, we’d hear the church bells ringing at Zion United Methodist Church next door, and their pealing was like a message to my soul and mind – you can do this.  You are not alone.  I spent many hours praying in that little house – and, many hours unable to pray; but knowing that even in those moments of not being able to pray, God was still near.

A little over a month ago, on February 25th, I married that kind, gentle man that I met through work, whom I love deeply, and who God has brought into not only my life, but the lives of my children.  A new beginning of a new journey.

And today, on the day where we celebrate that our God is alive and will return again, to make all things right and new – we said goodbye to our little house – because He has made things “new” for us, once again.

It was a beautiful day to do so.  After Easter Worship Service, we picnicked at the house, and reminisced – sharing so many wonderful and funny stories.  We missed having Tim there with us – he was unable to be here today; but we took several pictures to share with him later.  We had one last Easter Egg Hunt – ’cause you are never too old to hunt Easter Eggs – and then we said, “Goodbye, house”, and drove to our new home.

Yes, there were a few tears.

And honestly, the tears were not all that different from those that fell the first night in our little home.  There was some grief in today’s tears; some sadness.  Some fear for the future.

But there was also deep relief.

And deep gratitude, for this little house that was a home.

And tremendous, indescribable joy.

At our wedding, the choir sang the song “Dwelling Place.”  We chose that song because it has been very significant to me through these past several years – and always will be.  Because the truth of the matter is this – that little home that we loved so much, while it was our dwelling place, it was temporary.  And, this new, beautiful home that my husband and I are creating together – which will also hold wonderful days and hard days, joy and laughter, and tears and heartache – is also temporary.

But God will always be our dwelling place.  He will always be our shelter safe.  In Him alone is my peace, my rest, my comfort and my joy.

And I think that little home on Wornom Drive taught me – and my crew – that truth, far deeper than we ever would have learned it elsewhere.

I stand in awe, of a God so great.

I stand in thanks, for His faithfulness.

Lord, you have been our dwelling place
    in all generations.
² Before the mountains were brought forth,
    or ever you had formed the earth and the world,
    from everlasting to everlasting you are God.

Psalm 90:1-2

 

Postscript:  We have so many, many people to thank, for so many things – our wonderful church family at Seaford Baptist Church, for giving us a safe place to land initially, in their parsonage, and then for helping make the move to our Wornom Drive home possible – to Zion United Methodist, for opening their hearts and arms to us, over these years – our second church family.  To Garrett and Suzanne Fisher – for their unwavering friendship through the years, and their persistent hunt to find us a home, and to get us moved in.  To Zetie Damron, who acted the part of landlord on behalf of Zion, and who because a grandfather to my kids, and like a father to me.  To our neighbors who will will miss, and to so many more wonderful people who have stood by us and who have never once abandoned us.  And, overall, to God, who has truly been gracious.  His mercies are new every morning.