South Dakota- Coming Home

I wander through this house, new and essentially strange to me.   I've  walked through it a few times. Yes, I purchased it. 

  I took pictures and captured what it looked like.  I knew it belonged to me.  But tonight I wander and delight over every hint     of "mine" that I see here in this new space.  

My world has been fragmented. 

Torn apart- partly by circumstances - death, graduations, weddings ; change, both heartbreaking and life affirming. 

                                                                                                                                                                                                                         Joy and sorrow flow mingled down. 

 My world has been fragmented because I have chosen to tear it apart.

I dismantled my house, my physical structure. I gave away my furniture, his tools, our appliances.  I sorted  books and files, paperwork and office supplies, recipe cards and outdated appliance manuals. I pulled the hard drive out of the old PC and I carry it like a child. It contains precious photos and worthless files and who knows what. I must learn to extract and transfer essentials  to a slim, elegant, and totally foreign Mac.  Clearly I am not done dismantling and recreating. 

In my old space, I considered mementos of a life well lived and yet, in a way, over, finished.  I am no longer a suburban housewife with a two car garage, a commuting husband, four busy children with busy schedules.  There are no more soccer games to dash to, no archery matches, piano recitals or rabbit shows. No cross country races to wait through.  No muddy boots, no meals around the table, no bedtime stories or homework or talks into the night.  There's no marriage with it's joys and sorrows.

I flung clothes to the floor and picked out what I loved, what seemed to fit  … with what?  for whom?  Who will wear business casual? Who will wear party clothes and elegant formals?  Who will fit into that size or that shape?  Who am I? 

Yet, today as I wander this log house- foreign in appearance to my former home, I find pieces of me.  I find evidence of a loving son who unpacked a truck and set up this house, naturally starting with the library.   I sit surrounded. Favorite books fill familiar bookcases. The children's classics low to the floor, my late father-in-law's  Zane Grey paperbacks up high.  The hopelessly outdated World Book encyclopedia that no one wanted to part with.  We love books. 

I sit on a hand-me-down couch but I snuggle under the afghan knit by my mother for my wedding. The cheerful, red and blueTurkish rug warms the floor as it did in another space. There is a small, familiar watercolor of western mountains.  I drink warm, sweet chai from a colorful mug bought in Italy. 

I am home. 

Is this a foretaste of heaven?  Will we womeday wander streets of gold and marvel at the small delights that have been prepared for us?  

Will we recognize with pure and holy vision the tokens of a life well lived that have been accumulated for us?     Displayed  to welcome us home?

Here in this home,  I am alone. 

  Heaven will be a place to connect with all those we love, all who live in Jesus. To be in complete and perfect fellowship to worship together at the throne.      

                                                

                                                                                There will be laughter, sharing of joy and  life, life eternal.  

And here in this home, in this life,  I am not alone. 

        I drove up to the cabin, snug and secure  in the snowy twilight.       Before I was out of my truck,  my brother's car crunched down his driveway and across  the road to mine. His dog, the joyful announcer of visitors, guests, homecoming family, had barked his customary notification.   My brother showed me the mechanics of the house.  Invited me to come up to his house.  He was expecting me, watching for my arrival. 

As we enjoyed a unexpected meal together, 

we laughed and shared in joy and life, life eternal. 

This brother of mine. This gruff, matter of fact man, who now laughs easily and has aged to fit into his own skin.  This man, this brother of mine. 

We hated each other as children.  We fought. WIth sharp objects.  I sabotaged him in big and small ways.  He teased me to tears. Hot, salty tears of rage and frustration.  I was the student, the teacher's pet.  He was Dennis the Menace.  Hyperactivity and attention deficit were not a ticket to a diagnosis but to a whipping, to frustration.  I washed dishes and whined.  He milked cows, shoveled manure, picked fights. 

I went to college. He returned to the only place he wanted to be- a long way from home.  I had babies;  he got a divorce.  A nasty divorce.  I battled my demons;  he battled his.  We tolerated each other at  family events.  Barely.  He teased me to tears, I mocked his life in my head.  I lived in North Carolina , Japan,  Italy ; he remained isolated in Alaska.  

Working in rough jobs, becoming a rough man. 

Heaven will be full of people. Rough people.  People who hated their brothers and hurt their sisters.  People who ran away and people who wanted to.  People who were misunderstood -  those who appeared to doing all the right things and those who obviously lived on the edge of acceptable, misunderstood. People who live in isolation.  People who learned easily and people who made mistakes, over and over.  People who teased and people who cried at the frustration of life and pain of the the grit that wears at your joy.  

Heaven will be the great  and holy meeting of people. Coming home to Family

             And we'll be welcomed home- heralded by heavenly trumpets not the bark of a friendly dog. 

He's expecting us, He's watching for our arrival. 

      There we'll forget the trials and toils along the path that led us home;

but here we must chose to forget. 

Chose to forgive. 

Chose to bring heaven down to earth.

Years ago as I staggered through depression, a wise counselor asked, " Tell me about your family.  Do you have siblings?"  Eventually the years of frustration, the remembered grievances, the contempt poured out of me.  I was so wronged, he was such a jerk.  I was so angry.  Why had our parents let him get away with it?   In the silence that followed,  he asked softly, "Can you forgive? Forgive him for the hurts?  Forgive yourself for making him miserable? Forgive your parents for not seeing everything? Can you release him?"  

I wrestled.  He didn't deserve grace. He didn't ask for forgiveness. He probably didn't know or care the extent of my anger and pain.  

Could I forgive?  Not merely tolerate for short finite occasions.  

                                                                          Forgive. Love. Release.  

It didn't seem fair.  Why should I have to be the one?  What about him?  After all these years, what was the point?  We lived far apart and that was fine.  Again, could I, would I forgive?  In skeptical obedience I began a  prayer project. It was cross stitch, the craft of the decade,  and I stabbed the needle in and out of the coarse fabric with gritted teeth and savage prayers.  "Fine, I forgive."   

But as the months passed , the state of Alaska emerged under my hands; the state of my heart softened and grace, mercy, yes, love emerged. 

               "Bless him.  Grant him favor. Let him forgive me. Love him, Lord"    Love and sorrow flowed mingled down. 

It wasn't an easy path to this now place of our hearts. He had years of pain, I had plenty of time to wonder. He rubbed me raw at the family visits. I wrestled to keep my heart at peace.    But slowly, I was released.  

 And now, today, we are here, in a foretaste of Heaven.  Never would I have imagined that I would be so glad to live across the road from that rough, angry man.  Who is no longer rough or angry. Who has fought his demons and come out with dignity and purpose.  Who has a life,  a loving wife, the respect of his community, the love of his family, a loyal dog.  

And  who has a grateful sister who borrowed his big, warm  boots and winter coat to peacefully trudge home after dinner to her home across the road. 

                                                    Reconciled, reconnected, in fellowship.

And someday we will be Home.  And we'll see what we've released and whom we've blessed.  Who has released

                         us and who has had our back in the hard times.  

              We'll sit with former  enemies and know peace. 

We will know face to face the One who extended mercy, grace, forgiveness , love when we did not deserve it.

  Who reconciled Himself to us. 

 And we will be grateful.

      Grateful for mercy poured out on us.  

           Grateful for grace we didn't deserve.

                Grateful for forgiveness that gives us a place at the eternal table. 

                          Grateful for Love that brought us Home.