With Finley in my arms I walked to the neighbor’s house. Seeing their Class C motorhome excited me when I first moved in. Having explorers as neighbors is right up my alley! A cute dog (whom I’ve seen checking out my yard many times) was looking out the bay window. A beautiful tall lady comes to the door. Her name is Sara.
“My name is Karla; I’m your neighbor. This is my dog Finley.”
“I’m sorry we haven’t been over to meet you. We both had Covid as soon as you moved in.”
“I completely understand! Are you both better?”
And so we sat together. Finley, being curious as a cat ;-), walked around to investigate. Their sweet dog was in the kennel (I’m certain she and Finley’s friendship will bud with our trees in the spring).
Vern, Sara’s husband, shared interesting facts about them. The light and joy in both of them bubbled me up a bit more. Having spent 3 years on the road they chose to settle in our little town after health issues crept in a bit. We shared exciting stories of travel and of course, family.
Vern shared all about the little house I bought. “Would you like to come and see it?” We sat in my living room to visit more and concluded with shared sentiments. My home restoration turned out beautifully and we’re all happy to be neighbors and new friends.
My little house in my little town is home. And as I sit today with new writing goals (and a wonderful new coaching author/ publisher, Lisa) I have an overwhelming spirit of hope. I’m reminded of how restoration didn’t solely occur for my house; it happened in my soul.
My foundation is good. My walls have crumbled, floors caved in, and windows broken. Using the wrong tools, I’d try to rebuild. The material was all wrong. Each time I relied on the wrong general contractor. “This time it will be perfect! I’ll withstand any wind and storm and provide a place of comfort where I can be what God designed me to be!” Confidence was shattered and I felt I couldn’t do things alone. And the minute the house was empty, so was hope for true restoration. It felt like rejection each time. And so, like dressing a pig as they say in these parts, I’d find a way to build confidence and feel accepted. Slap some new paint and throw in some pictures-it would be perfect. And I’d use the wrong materials; I’d damage my own dwelling and disintegrate the diggings. For I only felt needed to provide for others. My abode felt abandoned.
Standing alone is never easy. If there are two, side by side, people seem to think you’re stronger or better. And so, tiny was my perfect life, and solo became my greatest strength. In it, I found the epitome of my existence. Quietly I’ve sought truth. In my small life I’ve never stopped dreaming. The days of my own childhood and motherhood no longer exist; but linger as the beautiful aroma that daily diffuses my dwelling and I’m gripped as a grandma. My own faith is deepened from the miracles I’ve experienced. My values, which have been my core, co-exist with my movements. There’s no need to make a home in a place undesigned for me.
Perhaps 2020 guided my grit to gridlock my goals. I’ve always had hope in a humanity without hate; and a fair shake for restoration for all. My life is quiet with music and words. And loud with love of God, family, friends, and of course, nature. There’s a knocking on my heart and front door. “Come in,” I say to my true General Contractor.