She’s eating spaghetti and dipping the dinner roll in butter and the sun has settled just so on the side of her face. Angelic. The last of the tumor-killing poison is dripping into her line and tomorrow morning will find us packing up and heading home.
And “home” is on my mind.
“Home” has been a 15 passenger van with 13 other people our first year of marriage. “Home” has been a tiny apartment in a suburb of Mexico. “Home” has been an 80 year old log cabin with snakes in the closet, where I brought my first baby home. “Home” has been an upstairs apartment at language school, a duplex in town, a friend’s rental house, a mobile home on our missions base, and lovely rent house in Chapala Mexico where Phoebe came home just hours after she was born.
And I was born for this. Made for all this moving. I had always wanted to “go”. And in my going God has taken me to China, Mongolia, Denmark, Sweden, France, Guatemala, Honduras and Mexico. I have lugged babies and cumbersome pregnant bellies onto cross-country busses and airplanes and into mountain villages with thin air. It hasn’t been glamorous, but it has been an adventure. The adventure He invited me to when I was 21.
There has been a lot of laughter. Much awe. Fear so thick I could cut it with a knife. A ridiculous amount of grace. A sense of wonder at His plan. And a dream of Mexico. And of my children growing up there. A dream of being useful there, and being challenged beyond what I think I am capable of. And seeing the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.
And of course this is not Mexico, and I am not “going” much these days. And the year at the farm and the prayers for direction and God closing doors one by one was surreal. And then diagnosis and surgery and chemo and life in Dallas and all this trying to rearrange the plan. Wakeful nights spent trying to re-imagine where God was really going with all that….and what do you want us to do now Lord?
Where do we make our home?
She’s asleep now in this dark hospital room, flourescent green lights casting a glow on her sweet profile. City lights spread out beneath my window and I can see the hospital corridors across the street, the hallways that are so familiar to me now. She has sat on that bench, there is our clinic room, and across the street, the Marriott where we recovered from 48 hours of sleeplessness after brain surgery. Familiar. But not home.
For months I have felt a longing for a life more ordinary. He has too, he feels walled in and ready to expand. Our backyard is quickly turning into a tilapia sanctuary and this is not our dirt to dig in. But how to make a new start when cancer is a part time job and unpredictable too? And the boys are needing roots and a place to fit. So we went out on a limb, spent the day in East Texas where we met and fell in love and had our first two babies and gew up in the Lord. And we looked at land and houses and dreamed again out loud. Of agriculture training for third world application and family camps and we dreamed of boys in the woods and of owning something for the first time. We dreamed of roots and wings and trusting God for things we seem incapable of.
It felt good. And hope is powerful. And He is still making a path for our feet…
Phoebe has done well so far with this round. Deacon however, has a virus and we are trying to decide how to keep them separated for now.
Thank you all for being with us each step of the way,