It's been over a month since my house burnt down. I have to say that this was one of the most surreal things that I have ever lived through in my entire life. In fact, there are parts of that night that I still don't remember. All I can think is that the Lord is protecting me from what I'm not ready for.
Since we have been in what I have referred to as our temporary permanent housing, I've really tried to get quiet with God and focus on what I was feeling so that I could work on healing. From personal experience, I can say that when you shove trauma down, and all of the feelings that go with it, it always comes back later and very rarely in a positive or constructive way.
Obviously this is different from any trauma that I have ever experienced. Even when our house flooded, there was still the knowledge that we would be able to rebuild (like half of the state). But, standing there, watching my home burn, seeing the fire spread more and more, I knew that there was no coming back from this one. Even before I heard the words "total loss" over and over again, even before I saw the damage for myself, in my heart I knew that this was the end. When people talked to us about rebuilding, it was always a pretty quick "no" from me because, after two floods and a fire, nothing in me felt like I could ever feel safe or at home there again.
That thought came with its own set of heartbreak because that was supposed to be our "forever home." God was all over the process of buying it from the very beginning. In a timeline that most people would have deemed impossible, God provided an amazing real estate agent, a home in our price range that met all of our needs, that still allowed us to remain in the city that we loved. My kids would not have to change schools, my husband and I had shorter commutes to work, it was in a quiet neighborhood as opposed to on a busy main road, and there was no new developing going on around it. It truly was an answer to prayer.
Over the next 6 years, we took that structure of a house and made it a home. My husband finally allowed me to have people over- something he was never too fond of before because he doesn't like entertaining. I, on the other hand, love to be the hostess, so I took full advantage of him stepping out of his comfort zone. We had cookouts an average of once a month for a few years. Our kids had friends over a lot, and a decent amount would end up spending the night. We had pool parties and bonfires- our house was a hotbed of activity and I loved it!
We also allowed several people to live with us over the course of the years that we lived there. I loved that people felt safe and comfortable to stay with us until they could get back on their feet from whatever situation they were in.
I did so much cooking and baking in that kitchen! So much love and planning went in to meals that I made and desserts that I baked- not just for my family but for friends and coworkers. I can't tell you how many conversations my kids and I had on that kitchen floor! (I don't know why but it's always the kitchen floor with us!) That home was a place where old traditions were carried on and new traditions were made. Many a game night was held there with so much laughter!
There were also a lot of tears shed in that home. There were arguments with ugly words said. There were screaming matches, name calling, slamming doors and occasional episodes of storming out. There was a period where our family became very broken under that roof. It wasn't always a place of love, sometimes it was a place of anger and resentment.
But, it was always there. It was my little sanctuary away from the rest of the world, weather that was sitting on my back porch, climbing in a bubble bath, or just stretching out on my bed. It was a placed that I worked hard for, prayed over, and prayed that everyone who entered would feel the love of God. There was not one single day that I was not thankful for it.
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