Nearly 3 months later and I am back here again.
Desire. Submission. Peace. Desire. Submission. Peace.
A re-post from this blog’s colossal-sized archives.
Yes, that was sarcasm. 🙂
I am in love. Yep, me. I am in love with a beautiful, toasty warm, 80-year-old house. After walking through its halls and over its hardwoods twice in a week, we came *this* close to making an offer. But after much talking and praying, we decided it just wasn’t the time. Maybe not the house. My husband and I have been renting ever since we said “I do” and my heart is longing for a place to plant our young family’s roots. I shed a few tears. Prayed.
And I then . . . I was okay.
And now, some time later, the house is pulling at my heart and mind. It feels like “home” is calling to me. My husband is willing to reconsider (what should I call him in this space?), but how do I know that what I’m feeling is something legitimate? I’ve never been one to trust my heart or my feelings too much and I definitely don’t want my family’s future riding on them. So we cry for wisdom because how do you know for certain when God is speaking?
Have you ever longed for a place that feels like home? The home of your childhood? Your honeymoon nest? The home you’ve never had? Oh, me too. Maybe those longings are placed inside us for more than a feeling of security. Maybe they turn our searching faces toward the One who is always our home. Changeless. Timeless. Unmoving. If so, that doesn’t really help me with my quest for a physical home in which to raise our children. Sigh. But it does give me a foundation on which to build my family’s true “home”. A place where in between the busyness, exasperation of raising two little ones, and trying to balance it all, Someone helps us to whisper love, bestow kisses, listen to whispering hearts, and direct little souls toward Him.
He is in the rental house.
He is in the mansion down the street, the shack in Peru and the place where you cross the welcome mat.
He is whispering in our longing.