Thanksgiving, 2017

This week has been so hard.  Again.  It makes you wonder if it will always be so tough.  Some say, “It takes time.”   Others say, “In a few years it won’t be so tough.”  We are in a house.  A beautiful house.  Together.  I am so thankful and so blessed.  Some say, “It’s so exciting!”  I don’t know.  But this week was tough.  Really tough.

We are attempting everyday life, each action taking enormous effort.  I could go to swim, but where are my bathing suit, my clothes, my keys…?  I could homeschool, but where are our pencils, paper, rulers, books…?  I could make a meal, but what food do I have and where are bowls, mixing spoons, pots…?  I could do laundry, but the machine didn’t work right and had to go back and we’re getting another one.  I could file for numerous applications for artist grants, writing paragraphs about how much I lost and exactly what it was and exactly how much it cost, and exactly what my artist resume and artist statement and artist bio is…

ALL of this was in the home we lost, all of in was so routine and easy and didn’t take a great deal of thought.  I think losing routine has been one of the greatest losses, and causes each day to take such an enormous amount of effort.  We have so much to consider that we didn’t consider before.  There are so many questions about insurance and rebuilding that always nag. 
Why weren’t we insured for more?  Is it our fault?  Their fault?  Will we be able to rebuild?  Every day brings new, unforeseen territory.  And the barest routine takes enormous effort.  This causes me to have become overwhelmed with the tiniest inconveniences.  A store wanted to give me my returns on a merchandise card and an additional gift card, instead of 1 card.  I went out in the parking lot and cried.  I tried to make a meal, and I cried.

I’ve had to really reconsider what my life is about.  Routine, ease?  Security?  Comfort?  Beautiful things?  Things from when I was little?  Memories?  A knife that can actually cut through an apple?  Rollerblades, bikes, snow clothes, scooters…for all the kids?  A shovel?  Clippers for my roses?  Having what you need to do things easily?  A moment to think?  Constant input from my iPhone (which I hardly used before)?  “What should I be doing right now?” becomes a constant question for my scattered brain.  

I called a friend on Thanksgiving and cried as she read Scripture.  She read Ephesians, Romans, and Psalm 27 (her favorite and my mom’s as well).  It says in Psalm 27 things like:

The Lord is my light and my salvation;

    whom shall I fear?

The Lord is the stronghold of my life;

    of whom shall I be afraid?

And:

Though an army encamp against me,

    my heart shall not fear;

though war arise against me,

    yet I will be confident.

One thing have I asked of the Lord,

    that will I seek after:

that I may dwell in the house of the Lord

    all the days of my life,

to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord

    and to inquire in his temple.

For he will hide me in his shelter

    in the day of trouble;

he will conceal me under the cover of his tent;

    he will lift me high upon a rock.

And:

Hear, O Lord, when I cry aloud;

    be gracious to me and answer me!

You have said, “Seek my face.”

My heart says to you,

    “Your face, Lord, do I seek.”

And…

I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord

    in the land of the living!

Wait for the Lord;

    be strong, and let your heart take courage;

    wait for the Lord!

It made me cry.  But wow!  Isn’t it beautiful?  To consider that the Lord is my stronghold, that my heart need not fear.  To say, “Lord, I’m seeking to dwell in Your house all my days, to gaze on Your beauty.”  When I can’t sleep I picture myself crawling into the palm of His hand, His shelter.  I am crying, “Lord, I’m seeking you.”  Or definitely trying to.  

Thanksgiving was so hard.  But the friend whose house we were at sat with me after a delicious dinner, and walk, and dessert, and heard my sadness.  She too has lost and lost and lost.  She mentioned that she would say to God, “But what about this need in my life?”  And she’d realize He could do that, or provide that.  He can do all things.  

He has been doing so much that I could never imagine.  The amazing generosity of so many is beyond anything I could imagine.  Thank you.  The prayers being lifted up on our behalf are definitely felt.  Thank you.  How very blessed and loved we are.  Thank you.  

And I read Romans 8:38-39 once again:

For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Verses upon the Burning of our House, July 10th, 1666 BY ANNE BRADSTREET

From my sweet college roommate, English major (of course), some literature that pertains to my current life:
Here Follows Some Verses Upon the Burning
of Our house, July 10th. 1666. Copied Out of
a Loose Paper.

In silent night when rest I took,
For sorrow near I did not look,
I wakened was with thund’ring noise
And piteous shrieks of dreadful voice.
That fearful sound of “fire” and “fire,”
Let no man know is my Desire.
I, starting up, the light did spy,
And to my God my heart did cry
To straighten me in my Distress
And not to leave me succourless.
Then, coming out, behold a space
The flame consume my dwelling place.
And when I could no longer look,
I blest His name that gave and took,
That laid my goods now in the dust.
Yea, so it was, and so ‘twas just.
It was his own, it was not mine,
Far be it that I should repine;
He might of all justly bereft
But yet sufficient for us left.
When by the ruins oft I past
My sorrowing eyes aside did cast
And here and there the places spy
Where oft I sate and long did lie.
Here stood that trunk, and there that chest,
There lay that store I counted best.
My pleasant things in ashes lie
And them behold no more shall I.
Under thy roof no guest shall sit,
Nor at thy Table eat a bit.
No pleasant talk shall ‘ere be told
Nor things recounted done of old.
No Candle e'er shall shine in Thee,
Nor bridegroom‘s voice e'er heard shall be.
In silence ever shalt thou lie,
Adieu, Adieu, all’s vanity.
Then straight I ‘gin my heart to chide,
And did thy wealth on earth abide?
Didst fix thy hope on mould'ring dust?
The arm of flesh didst make thy trust?
Raise up thy thoughts above the sky
That dunghill mists away may fly.
Thou hast a house on high erect
Frameed by that mighty Architect,
With glory richly furnished,
Stands permanent though this be fled.
It‘s purchased and paid for too
By Him who hath enough to do.
A price so vast as is unknown,
Yet by His gift is made thine own;
There‘s wealth enough, I need no more,
Farewell, my pelf, farewell, my store.
The world no longer let me love,
My hope and treasure lies above.

Interesting Days

These last days have been...interesting. People say about what we're going through, "I can't even imagine!" To which I respond, "Neither can I!" It's this weird experience of trying to figure out what's next in every single area of life without any of the normal ease. Of jumping from being married almost 25 years, living in one home for 20 years, to having almost no possessions and rebuying and reregistering for what you already had...because it all burned down. All while thinking through having 4 kids and all their needs, homeschooling, redoing every document, filing loads of paperwork, sorting loads of donations, house hunting, and getting no sleep. Lists are always running through our brains. Constant reminders in every store and home of what we had and no longer do. "I had this ____________!" we exclaim, a phrase that's begun to feel old and worn. We feel perpetually nauseous. I randomly stare into space....my voice wobbles as the sorrow and weariness hits. Friends are so thoughtful, so generous, so patient. A friend I haven't seen in years is up late at night, looking through Craigslist to find furniture that will be beautiful for us, so a new home is...beautiful. Other friends are retrieving photos, getting giveaways on our behalf (so we don't have to go there, and there, and there...), buying our registry, praying tirelessly, checking in with encouraging verses, sending hand me down electronics (such a blessing) to replace ours, taking our kids to do fun things, open for random texts about random needs, setting up meals, helping move furniture...and the list goes on. I am amazed by family and friends, near and far. We're living split between friends who have so generously opened their home and lives to our chaos. We make lists. Lots of them. These friends know what I need to think of that I forgot to think about. And they are patient, so patient. Yesterday I read "O Lord, all my longing is before you; my sighing is not hidden from you. My heart throbs; my strength fails me, and the light of my eyes--it also has gone from me" (Psalm 38:9-10). This is how I really felt this week. I took Lily and Trey to our San Sonita Place property for the first time this week. Trey kept saying, "Where are we? It's unrecognizable! It's unrecognizable!" over and over and over. These are the roads near his home for the 11 years of his life. It's now open for all to come and see the wreckage and ruins. My father struggles because this is what his house looked like when he was a boy and came home, after the bombings in Germany. "O Lord, ALL my longings..." I turn to Isaiah, reminded that the same One who is the everlasting God, who knows all things and holds them all together, holds me. Like a shepherd "he will gather the lambs in his arms...he will gently lead those that are with young....He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might he increases strength....they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint." I weep at this, amazed by the hope He provides.