IM HOME

Home (noun) : 

The most romantic word I know.

    I’m not kidding. I hear this word and this little door in my heart swings open and all of these feelings come cascading out in sparkling gold, and mellow blues, and lovely rose, and vibrant orange, and deepest green. My heart is always longing for home. I think of a place that’s cozy, and comforting, and welcoming. Where there are family pictures, and fresh cut flowers on the counter. Something wonderful is in the oven, and you can hear life being lived in other parts of the house. There’s a garden outside that’s been lovingly nurtured and tended to. And maybe a little sun room or patio to read in, to drink lemonade in. 

    Just looking at it, you think: “I want to go in.” Something about the front door, or porch, or the lawn, they’re familiar to you, and begging you to come inside and stay a while. And once you cross the threshold, you aren’t disappointed. You feel a tangible peace lingering inside, and you can tell people live here just by looking around. You’re ushered in warmly and lovingly by gentle hands, and by eyes that have been waiting to see you, by ears that are eager to hear how you are. It’s a refuge. It’s kind inside here. You belong here. There’s time to breath and rest and work here. 

    This is vastly different from the home I knew growing up. I would approach my front door every day trembling, hands shaking, knees quaking, unsure of what would be waiting on the other side. Chaotic, violent, bloody, messy, angry, deepest sadness, vast shame, the occasional mild day where we all just minded our own business and didn’t really interact. Would somebody be there to greet me today? Would it matter what time I came back? Was anybody waiting for me? I always called it: my house. I made a distinction because I knew it wasn’t really home. I did my best to exist as a vapor, a shadow, under an invisibility cloak. I didn’t want anybody to see me, to know how to hurt me, I didn’t want to ask for anything or take up too much space. I just wanted to make it out okay. 

 

I left for college like the road runner, a little beep beep you, a trail of dust in my wake, in my head the notion that I was off to a new home 

N E V E R       T O       R E T U R N 

I was wrong, of course. It doesn’t work like that. Though my family life was tumultuous and though I thought I had cut all ties with them in my heart, as it turns out, I actually love the rowdy little bunch of scallawags we are. Even if I tried to tell myself that it would all be easier if I just ran away from them, what I really wanted, 

 

 

 

 

waaaay deep down

 

 

 

in the very bottom right-hand corner of my heart

 

just barely the size of a cookie crumb

was for my family to heal

 

That hope was so tiny, so painful to behold, so completely and utterly unrealistic and hopeless, that I couldn’t touch it. It was buried, and as far as I could reckon, basically dead, only one or two more dramatic blow-outs away from being crushed. 

 

BUT. GOD.

But God started showing me that our situation was not impossible to Him.  

But God started showing me that the death in my family and home could be brought to life. 

But God started growing my hope and my will to see my family healed. 

But God did not and does not want my family’s story to end with: we were too broken so we all gave up. 

    Jesus finally broke through to me in the Fall of 2014, two years after I moved out. My heart began to soften towards my family and I started letting go of all I was holding them accountable for. It was a long road. To be honest, it still is a long road some days. I felt myself changing, very, very slowly. We were all changing, becoming softer, more humble. We were willing to own up to our mistakes instead of defending them. I saw them only in glimpses between college and touring and getting a job and moving into an apartment. I was living life beyond break-neck speed, as were they. All I had were a handful of blurry snapshots of every member of my family changing, but before I knew it, I was calling my house, home. And I was crying every time I left. 

    So then, May 2018, God asks me to go on the World Race, all of the sudden, the people that I was sharing my days and my life with…I had no choice in who they were. My team was assigned to me, and the 5 of us couldn’t have been more different. I spent my whole life surrounding myself with people who were just like me, carefully selecting what to share, what to express, what to hide, who to spend time with, who to ignore, but now I had DIFFERENT and UNKNOWN and SCARY in my face all day erryday, and a choice with that. I wanted to flee. I wanted to fear. I wanted to hide. I wanted to stick my head into a paper bag and be allowed to be an observer, rather than a participant. I didn’t want to cry in front of them or be vulnerable. I didn’t want to be goofy or rowdy. I wanted to be nothing because nothing kept me safe. 

    But God…But God gave me the most wonderful opportunity to stand up, and speak out, and expose myself, my heart to the people that He gave to me in that season. And they didn’t fail me. They held on with me. They listened to me. They loved me. And I’ll bet that they didn’t always feel like it, just like I don’t always feel like it, but they chose to love, to put each other first, to walk together. What a different story than the one that I’d learned growing up. 

So then, there I was in Southeast Asia, RACE ROUND 2 BBY when suddenly I got pulled back home. I anticipated getting in a van and yeehawing to the Glory of God around the US, but instead I distinctly felt that I was supposed to go home. H O M E. 

    These past two and a half months, I’ve been broken like never before. I have spent hours weeping into my hard wood floors, covering my head with my hands, tears rolling, snot dropping, humidity building, prayers and tears sliding out freely. I have snapped at my mom, and I’ve acted like a sullen tween. I have found myself in moments terrified at what the next day may hold, and I’ve grouchily pulled my blanket coccoon around me at night and lamented my shortcomings and imperfections. I’ve been utterly and completely broken, brutalized, and forced to face one of my absolute weakest points: my relationship with my family. 

    But, I’ve also been comforted like never before.  I can feel my foundation rumbling. There are lies that are being crumbled away so that I won’t put my trust in them anymore. I’m experiencing a freedom and a refinement that I’ve never known. God brought me home so that I could learn how to stand firm in Him. He brought me home so that I could face my fears. He brought me home so that I could love fiercely in all things, in every season. He brought me home so that I could learn to love my family, so that I could learn to lean into them instead of running away from them, He brought me home for reconciliation. He brought me home to show me how I’ve hurt them. He brought me home to show me how to heal with them. To teach me how to be a better sister, a better daughter, and a better friend. To love at all costs, to put the ways of my flesh behind me, and to put on the righteousness that I’ve been offered. God brought me home right when my family was all ready. Not a minute too soon or too late.

When everybody had just enough hope to push through the growing pains.

When all of us hungered and thirsted for real relationship.

We are healing. It’s a process. It’s a slow process. A patient endurance. Not just me going through it alone, but all of us going through it together.  But perhaps more than anything, He’s shown me that EVEN IF my situation doesn’t change very much, EVEN IF everything around me looks exactly the same, EVEN IF the progress is so slow my naked eye just can’t see it sometimes, He has made ME radically different so that I can boldly withstand every situation and circumstance. Stayed encouraged, even if your situation isn’t different, you can be different in your situation through Holy Spirit who comforts, counsels, and guides you in every moment. 

    Will I ever get a time in my life again where I get to live in my Mom’s house for months on end, jobless, and just focus on God, my family, my friends, and squad? (I bet my Mom hopes not 😉 THANK YOU FOR KEEPING ME UNDER YOUR ROOF MAMA)  Occasionally acting like we are multiple years or decades younger than we are in terms of eye rolling and unwillingness to touch a dish and occasionally acting like we are multiple years or decades older than we are in terms of crochety, grumbley, or grouchy. So, if you too find yourself feeling trapped, or pressed, if this season has been wildly refining and painful and revealing the condition of your very human heart, you are not alone. Here’s to all of us stumbling through life together completely, wholly, wonderfully, imperfect. God is doing the miraculous right underneath our cute little snouts little by little and day by day. 

 

I want to be the kind of person that reaches out for the hands of others, slowly, and thoughtfully, and carefully and simply points to the kingdom coming, and walks people home.

 

 

Ari’s Home (pronoun):

Jesus Christ, where my heart is. I’ve finally got a forever home.

 

 

May the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the God of family, the God of miracles, deliverance, and hope, the God of peace, may He be the God that you seek refuge in today, and tomorrow, and from everlasting to everlasting. 

You are not your mistakes. I love you. Jesus loves you BIG TIME. 

 

Ari