Praise Break: New House Verison

I’m sitting in my new house. 

I’ve got my last little bit of morning coffee heated up.

I’m sitting at my kitchen table in the spot that I’ve designated my writing spot. 

I’m looking out my french doors to a snow covered back yard on the spot that I’m fairly certain will be our garden in the spring. 

My youngest son is asleep in my room in his crib.

My oldest son is fighting sleep, but mostly quiet in his room on his bed.

I am surrounded by walls that are painted in colors that I painstakingly chose. 

The floors beneath me were ripped up inch by inch, then sealed, then selected, and finally laid again inch by inch.

I can hear the washer and dryer running. Both machines carefully selected and purchased only a few months ago. 

If you don’t make yourself stop, you will miss the wonder of walking in promise. 

I have been praying, declaring, crying, wondering, worrying, and waiting for this moment for two years. Well, it’s been more like six years, but very intensely for the last two. 

Myself, my husband, and my son (9 months old at the time), moved in with my mom and stepdad two years ago so we could put back money to buy a house and me not have to go back to work to do it. The time with my parents has been great and I would do it all again for that alone. In a lot of ways though, this has been one of the hardest things I’ve gone through. I feel bad even typing that because it really was not that bad of a thing. It is a challenging thing for anyone to have two families living under the same roof. Add to that the struggle that is being a first time mom and it will make for a bit of a pressure-filled situation for anyone. For me personally, God used this time to really address some issues that were hanging out unnoticed in my heart regarding trusting Him, regarding real love and how it really responds and how it really protects, and really just regarding the twisted way I had come to see and respond to Him. 

Today I just wanted to honor the Lord for this simple moment, for it’s anything but simple to me. There are pages and pages in several journals over several years asking God for this moment. There are tear-stained pages in my Bible that were witness to some of the hardest questions my heart has ever asked. There are paths worn out in the carpet of my borrowed living room at my mom’s house that served as the war path I would walk when I was full of faith, beating down every thing in the way of my promise. There are pieces of myself I’m finding again because sometimes waiting becomes your identity. 

I keep trying to find the perfect little nugget to end this with that perfectly summarizes what the past 2 years have been, while not being too horribly long or all over the place. I am not sure I have that at the moment. There is so much I have learned. If the person I was 2 years ago stood in front of me right now, I’m not sure I would know her. I’m sure she wouldn’t know me. And that’s a good thing.