Last Wednesday morning I received a text from our old neighbor in Durham. Usually we exchange simple "how are you?/how is Dean?" texts but today was quite different. She informed me that our old house on Walnut Cove was on fire. First I should say that no one was injured. Sadly, there were three pets that did not make it. I am so thankful that the family was not hurt and that the firemen were able to contain the fire so that no one else's homes were damaged. But this news so saddened me that I really had to step back and ask myself why. My first thought was that this was the first home we owned as a couple, the home where we brought our new born baby boy, the kitchen where we prepared meals for others and ourselves, the living room where we prayed with dear friends, the office where George spent hours upon hours as he traced the brachial plexus, our room where we woke up doubled over in laughter in the middle of the night and where we cried in the deepest darkest despair as dear George experienced a cancer diagnosis and treatment, the whole house- gone- just like that.
So incredibly sad…and those are just my memories of my house. The poor family who lived there lost so much more, everything. The important part of that word "everything" is THING. Its only things, only stuff. Praise God no one was hurt.
We have just started our search for a permanent home in Raleigh. I think God really used this sad sad circumstance to help me learn a couple of lessons.
First of all, no one thing is permanent in this world. I should not obsess about a perfect house with every kind of amenity. I should not worry if it is not as handsome as I always pictured my permanent home to be. I should not worry that it has a certain type of stove or a big enough closet or a bathtub in the master bathroom, or that we have enough space to grow or anything at all. All those amenities could be gone in an instant.
Secondly my reaction to the news taught me how dear a house can really be. I feel a little more justified in my pursuit of the right house for us. On this note comes the third and final point; a point I must attribute to my husband. As we talked about these very lessons he reminded me of something. Although our house on Walnut Cove was all we needed, completely comfortable, and plenty big enough we always found plenty wrong with it, complained about the kitchen being too small and countless other things. The house is not what makes the memories. The fixtures, the window treatments, the hardwood floors…none of these things are what drew out the sad emotional response to our house having been burned. No, it was none of these things. The memories we made as a family are what made this house a home to us, the four hearts beating inside it are what made it special. This is my lesson: as I look for a permanent home, I should not look for what the house has or does not have. I should look for something about the right size, in about the right area, and within a comfortable price range. The other stuff is really not that important. We will make whatever house we live in special. We will laugh, cry, pray, teach, and experience as a family no matter how many square feet, no matter what the kitchen looks like, no matter what kind of bathtub is in the master bathroom. George, George, Dean and I will make it home. Because home is truly where the hearts are.
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