My Heart Was Home Again

The concept of "home" has come up frequently in discussions with family, friends, and this box I type my thoughts into. I've mentioned before that home, for me, is the two houses my grandparents have inhabited for my entire life. Realizing what home is to me is one thing, but now I am trying to wrap my head around the fact that, this weekend, I am losing one of those homes. People get older, health slowly declines, plans are made - before you know it, one of the most stable parts of your childhood is crumbling before your eyes.

The house on Johnson Lane was not just a house. It was the house where Grandma and Grandpa lived, where there was always an open bed, homemade goodies in the freezer, where shelves and walls were lined with cherished keepsakes and tokens of our heritage. It was the house where Larsons, Ericksons, and Becks gathered for shared meals, favorite songs, Ole & Lena jokes, silly string wars. It was the house where we worked together to make lefse, donuts, and pies. It was the house filled with outdated wallpaper, carpet, and light fixtures that I will always remember.

Those 4 walls contain more than just a house. It was a home - not just to me, but to an entire family. And while I may get teary at the thought of saying goodbye to that home forever, I know that my treasure is not here on earth, "where moth and rust destroy" (Matthew 6), but in heaven. I will keep clinging to that truth while I allow myself to mourn this loss. I think that letting this material thing go will be one important step in the process of eventually saying goodbye to one of the people who made that home so significant.

Snuggles, Anticipation, and Choices

After one week away from work, I sat on the couch this afternoon savoring my snuggle time with the sweet, sleeping baby boy in my arms. As I thought about the next few days of my life, I realized that I am stumbling headfirst into an incredibly agonizing unknown. I like knowing what is going to happen. I like having all of the answers. That is when I feel safe.

In the past few weeks and months I have learned (and re-learned) a few lessons:

• My feelings are a legitimate part of my existence that need to be acknowledged, not bottled up. Not so easy when the first 20 or so years of your life were spent mastering the art of buried feelings.
• I am not self-sufficient. The introvert in me wishes I could travel the rough patches of life on my own without having to rely on anyone else. If I don't have to rely on anyone else, then I can't be disappointed, right? Then the voice of Truth cuts through my pride, usually via the Psalms, and reminds me that I need hope, strength, counsel, love that does not come from myself but from God and the friends he has blessed me with.
  

I've been anticipating the arrival of February with trepidation, knowing that it would not be an easy month. I took most of last week off to stay with my mom while she had surgery. The recovery has been less than ideal, to say the least. She is back in the hospital with the hope that the doctor can determine why she is not recovering as expected.

Tomorrow, I will be spending the day at the hospital with my parents while we await answers and relief for my mom. Wednesday, I will be helpless to do anything but pray while baby M has surgery to repair the hole in his heart. I cannot stop, fix, or prevent any of the hardships that have or will come. I cannot promise myself happy endings without some struggles along the way.

I can choose to hope that God will be with those I love as well as myself. I can choose to remember that "the steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end" (Lamentations 3:22).

A Synopsis of My Life Consisting of Varied and Succinct Thoughts

You know you live in Minnesota when you walk a mile over snow-packed sidewalks on a brisk winter evening...and LIKE IT.


Status symbols have a frustratingly overwhelming influence on Americans, myself included. Sometimes it seems like the only way to really break free would be to move far, far away. Who's with me?


Our lives have been built around the ability to drive anywhere in our own vehicles. Get a nice house in the suburbs, take the freeways to work, go to a church half an hour away, buy a month's worth of groceries at once...you get my point. This makes my desire to become a bicycle commuter slightly more challenging.


During my annual crocheting binge, I discovered that I have been crocheting the wrong way. Probably explains why my previous projects have been so difficult.


Someday, I want to dive off a cliff into a beautiful blue ocean. One thing stands in my way: I am almost 24 years old and I don't know how to swim.


My taxes are more complicated than ever before this year, but I think I'm going to do them myself just to show the people that charge too much money to do it for you.


Saturday Night Live makes me laugh. Laughter is good.


Baby M got an awesome new toy...if you press all 6 of the instrument buttons then it plays each instruments' part of a classical song! Unfortunately, I am more entertained by this than the baby.


An hour of my morning was spent studying for book club at Panera with a cup of coffee. It was like being in college again - I loved studying in coffee shops!


For some reason, Roseville never gave Victoria Street sidewalks. Combine a lack of sidewalks with poorly plowed snow and fast cars and you get my slightly unnerving one block walk from the bus stop to work. Drivers of Roseville, thank you for not running me over...yet.

There's No Place Like Home

In the midst of my Sunday evening cleaning and organizing, the song issuing from my laptop speakers brought on an interlude of introspection.

I drove 300 miles from the place I call home

Upon hearing those lyrics I began thinking. Thinking about how my past roommates have always used "home" to refer to wherever their parents are. Thinking about how "home" was wherever I happened to be living. Thinking about what really felt like home.

Some families put their roots down in one place, one town, one house, and stay there for years. Other families move from place to place for whatever reason. My family fell into the second category. We moved a lot. I could count on the fact that eventually we would be packing everything up and moving to some other place.

That's what each new dwelling became: some other place. Each time we moved I felt less connected with our "home." Even today, I never finish unpacking when I move. There are always boxes that sit in a closet waiting for the next time we load up the moving truck. I want to decorate, find a place for everything, make the space my own, but there is always a little voice that says, "What's the point? You'll just have put it back in a box when your lease is up."

My sisters and I have often talked about the two places that we identify as home, the two places that have never changed: our grandparents' homes. Little things change as they do in every house, but the "Grandpa and Grandma's house" that I have known since I could first remember will always be there. Every time I visit my grandparents, I know that the beds will be in the same place, the cereal will be in the same cupboard, the same grandfather clock will chime, the same radio station will turn on at 5 AM, the same family heirlooms will be prominently displayed, the same sliced cheese will be in it's special container, the same playhouse will be visible in the backyard, the same nightlight will be in the bathroom, the same pictures will be on the wall.

That is when I am home.

"Do You Hear That? It's the Winds of Change."

It has been almost two months since I left my first job behind. These past weeks have been spectacular: getting to know baby M; watching him grow both physically and cognitively; and getting to know my employers. My delight in little babies has only grown as I have become more amazed at God's handiwork in this tiny little human!

When I accepted my new job, I knew that it would come with a pay cut. I did a little math to make sure that I would still be able to pay all of my bills and told myself that less money would mean more practice in responsible spending.

Fast forward two months and you will find a young woman, previously very financially immature, who has worked and reworked her budget many times. The jump from mindless, careless and selfish spending to keeping track of every single dollar has been a challenge. Every two weeks I sit down and figure out exactly how much will stay in my checking account to pay bills electronically, while the rest of my budget requires a cash-only approach. It's too easy to just hand over a piece of plastic without paying attention to where that invisible money should really be going.

Figuring out my budget has not always been very uplifting, as my bad decisions are coming back to haunt me with sky-high interest rates. Every once in awhile I tell myself that if I had stayed at my old job, I would have plenty of money to pay down my debts and save for the future. But if I had stayed where I was, I would still be spending the same irresponsible way. I know that I am better off financially where I am now, where I have no choice but to track every dollar.

So, I see two blessings within my new job; not only do I get to do what I have wanted to do for years, but I am learning how to be responsible with what God gives me.

And he said to them, "Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions."

Luke 12:15

The Past and The Present

This afternoon, I saw a picture of one of my college professors. Almost immediately, I was struck with the same fear and feelings of inadequacy that usually taunted me in her presence.

Sometimes I think about what I've accomplished during college and in the 9 months since graduating, and for a few moments I feel proud of myself. Then I think about what it would be like to face that professor now, bearing all of my post-graduate accomplishments for her to see, and suddenly my pride shrivels up to almost nothing.

Funny how one person can have such a lasting influence.

Music and Memories

Sometimes, I am amazed at how a specific song can bring up memories, causing me to relive an entirely different time of my life. I heard Don't Go Chasing Waterfalls this afternoon and almost instantly remembered a day in first grade. We were on a bus leaving a field trip to some sort of nature center, and the "cool" girls were singing Waterfalls while I lamented not knowing all of the lyrics so that I could sing along.

After that flashback, I started thinking about other songs with the same time-traveling effect...

When I hear Breakfast at Tiffany's, I remember sitting in the Champlin Public Library watching VH1 with Kayla. We were so surprised that Deep Blue Something looked like a bunch of country singers!

One Sweet Day brings me back to third grade: Megan, Jennifer and I loved spending our recess sitting on the swings and singing Mariah Carey songs.

After The Lion King came out in theaters, WLite started playing Elton John's Can You Feel the Love Tonight. I remember well the day we sat in the car behind the St. Louis Park Burger King eating our just-purchased lunches. My mom didn't want her onions, so she threw them out the window for the blackbirds nearby.

College changed the way I experience Silent Night. We sang that song dozens of times for Christmas at Northwestern, and I will never forget standing in the dark, candlelit auditorium, waiting for the sound of the bell. Or hoping that I didn't trip down the steps.

Every time I listen to Fireflies, I travel to a time when snow was falling and I was closing in on the end of my first grade student teaching. I remember what it was like to drive the Ford Explorer and hope that I survive another day or feel grateful for making it through another day.

A few weeks ago, I added a new song to my list: The Book of Love. My sister and her fiance used this song for their wedding slideshow. I couldn't help buying the song for myself, and now when I listen to it I relive the moments when we hid in the back of sanctuary, smiling and anticipating.