I am not a mover. Nope. When I live in a place I put down roots- sometimes literally- with plantings, but I really get into that home. I was a pink bundle carried over the threshold where I called home until I was 21. College years excluded, I do not fancy changing addresses. Part practicality (bloom where you are planted), part entrenchment ( I am NOT updating my address book again and getting boxes!!) it is nonetheless a part of who I am.
In the evening when I survey my yard, my front door, listen to the hum of my children inside I feel a thrill inside- a warmth. I feel like I am at home. I am not one to imagine myself pulling up roots and sailing away to some far off place just because- too impractical, expensive, self-centered. I have parents here who need me, and whose needs in the future I anticipate will increase. I have built a life in this community. I love to travel; the smells, the different language, the dialects- they all beguile me. But home is sweetest- after all my sweet heart is there and my heart with legs and names live here too.
We are feeling called by God to journey to a different church home. I have been at my current church for 24 years. My mother, my aunt and my kids all are members. I met my husband there, married him there. I have some of my best friends and sisters in Christ there. But God is calling us and his call was long enough ago that I fear we are staying into disobedience if we do not act soon. I am grumpy and mentally exhausted when I consider starting all over. But then when we moved into our current house there was a thrill at all the possibilities, a thrill at the work ahead as we pondered the future within the walls. Perhaps I can gain a bit of energy and encouragement from that comparison.
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