I was married for 31 years, 5 children, 27 years as a full-time homemaker. Comfortable living in a comfortable house, but not elaborate. I spent countless hours deciding what to put into each room, what it's purpose was, how to make it prettier and so forth. It was my job to make the box we lived in a home. Then I lost that job when my husband fired me and moved out. Now, I've given away, sold or donated roomfuls of furniture, trinkets, art, plants, brand new appliances. My two daughters and 20- year old son and I are living with two dogs and a cat in an apartment with less than 900 sq.ft. After a month here I'm still trying to find places to put things. All we have are twin beds, a sofa, a cushy chair and $99 stainless steel shelving units from Sams. You'd think that with 2000 less square feet would be easier to keep clean but it's still a struggle. Even so, it has become home because my children are here, their friends come to squeeze in with us. We watch tv, celebrate graduation, and talk so much more than we did before. We are connected more than we used to be because you can't hide very long in this little space. There's only four doors to stand behind. I am grateful to be sharing a room with my son, each of us on twin beds, telling one another good night, hearing him snore. I am grateful that I have time to lean over the porch rail and watch my little girl play with new friends. I'm amazed and thankful that my daughter isn't ashamed to bring her friends here, that she's happy and doesn't complain about sharing a room with her little sister. In fact, she hasn't complained about any of the struggles or mess, she's just born them right alongside of me.
This has not been easy. It's been the hardest few months I have ever known. Heart-wrenching, bone-crushing painful months. But the Lord has sent amazing people who've prayed with us, helped us in so many ways from boys who never cut grass before who figured out how to do it, to women who've held me while I sobbed, to men I hardly knew who loaded trucks and spent their Saturdays moving us. Mother had planned a trip out here weeks before I knew I'd need her and was here the next week. She's washed dishes and made food and forgiven me for outbursts and loved her grandchildren and has been more of a blessing than I've ever told her.
The hurt isn't over. The problem isn't solved. But we are stronger and we can find our way one footstep at a time.
