Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Homeless in a Sense

     I burst into tears on Sunday evening when Kevin and I were out to dinner (fortunately, it was just the two of us, and it wasn't crowded at the restaurant).  My mom announced that she's having an estate/yard sale at the beginning of May and that we have two weeks to get our things out of her house because she's putting it on the market.  It's beyond overwhelming to consider all the things we have to sort through and in such a short period of time as it is.
     In addition to sorting through and cleaning out things at our own place, which desperately needs a great deal of work, the task seems just sort of impossible, especially when Kevin can't carry anything or move stuff right now because he's still got to wear a surgical boot and be careful of his foot. Oh yeah, and my allergies are so bad I've been ready remove my eyeballs altogether.  Our place and my mom's definitely has pockets of zones, especially where stuff has been stored for a while, that would be condemned by the allergen police.  Fortunately, it's not pink eye or or any sort of infection, but my eye doctor gave me an anti-inflammatory said not to wear contacts until it clears up.
     This would be a daunting an undertaking even if this weren't the one and only house my immediate family has ever lived in for more than five or so years, but it is.  My mom's had this house for the past fifteen years.  I know that doesn't seem like much to people who have grown up in the same house, or on the other extreme, it seems like a long time if you're used to moving frequently, like our family was.  I know that my mom's wanted to move into a little apartment for a while.  Each time she talked about selling the house, it upset me, but she hadn't done all of the renovations and things, stripped the wallpaper, and such, so the sense of loss and being overwhelmed subsided.
     Now that she's having every contractor known to man come through to give her estimates, she's stripping wallpaper, getting rid of things by the carload, I'm grieving that before long I won't have a family home to go to for sanctuary, solitude, family time, comfort or anything else.  I won't have somewhere I know I'm always welcome to sleep, eat, take or use whatever I need, have a home-cooked meal, grab some children's books my parents read to me when I was a kid, open a living room drawer or a cupboard completely filled with family photo albums and loose pictures.  There won't be a place where our family is all invited and expected to gather on holidays, especially Thanksgiving and Christmas.  I won't have somewhere that has so many memories and stories just hanging in the air, dancing on the windowsills, tucked into the corners.
     Yes, I know things could be much worse, and have been at other times, but right now I'm grieving and overwhelmed by how things are.  I don't need a billion and one reasons why I should be grateful or even ten reminders of how things have been worse and could be again.  I would appreciate some prayers and if you have any compassion, go ahead and send that our way, too.
     Lord, help us rest in You as my family and I deal with yet another poignant reminder that we have no permanent home on this earth.  We are travelers, pilgrims, prayer warriors on a mission, and we are called to place our trust in You alone.  You, Lord, are ALL we have, and You give us ALL we need.  Our future is in Your Hands.  Lord, we pray for Your will.      

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