2-5-17
Rain is all around my refuge, this dark morning. For many months, I have spent a night or two every week here, while my children’s father comes into the family home for his parenting time. In the beginning, I would text my friend to start the AC before I got here. I would wake up early, and drink my coffee and do my studies on the back patio, while I watched the deer.
The seasons have changed, and now I text a few hours ahead, and ask her to get the heater going. For some weeks, this refuge was coated in ice and snow. The bed is soft, I am alone, and I have reluctantly settled into this routine.
I haven’t felt safe in a very, very long time. As I turn the corner of this driveway, 9 times out of 10, tears are still streaming down my face. The 30 minute drive to here is usually a time of wailing. I don’t turn the music on, and that gives me the chance to face all the thoughts that can’t get faced when I am surrounded by my own small people, in the home that feels mine, yet not mine.
The kids that live here go about their life around me, share their joys. I witness tears and all the things that come with a house full of children and living. The friends who made this place safe make me food. Make me coffee. Popcorn. Share a family movie night. Share a time of scripture reading, or a moment of honest prayer. Sit and listen while I tell a story, or distract me from whatever with something much more interesting.
I watch the way they parent, I work on my sales while dishes are washed, and we listen to audio books. I feel their joys and sorrows ebb and flow. It is a privilege to be welcomed into the life of other’s like this.
I have been studying the gospel of John since September. There is this guy in there, of whom John speaks. He says thing like, “walk with me” “come and see” “sit with me” “eat with me” “feed my sheep”. This guy is always making a beeline for the oppressed, the shamed, the hopeless, the accused, the humbled.
Basically, he’s making a beeline for me.
This is love.
And this is the love I feel here.