home roots and hotel rooms.
I'm bad at starting these things. I like to start with a humorous story and brilliantly tie it into my point, and that just isn't coming right now. Update from the last blog: I'm married, and I'm so happy. I've missed this blog. Jon and I have stayed in four hotels since we were married, and been in five different cities (none of these were a honeymoon). Thousands of miles are behind the gold minivan we borrowed from Jon's parents (for space purposes). Snacks have become meals, the radio our background music, and the interstate our view. We are unlike most married couples in that we are together about 97% of the day, 100% if we are in a one-room hotel like we have been for a third of our marriage, and like we are now.... in...a town in Missouri? idk. En route to Florida for CRU training.
The past few weeks have been fun and I was looking forward to it because I love change. I have loved every minute with my husband and I'm not sick of him yet (not sure if this is mutual). I have gotten to know people and swam and saw family it was a blast.
And then we came HOME. To our apartment, four days ago. Bliss. We unpacked everything. It looked awesome. Jon spent the entire day following me around with a hammer and nailed things into the wall. We made real dinners. We had leftovers. I put way too may decorative pillows on our bed and Jon shakes his head at me every night in bewilderment when we have to take them all off. I'm a bit too proud of the color scheme of our bathroom, and I could not stop looking at my grandparents' plates hanging in our living room. We lit candles every night and I swear I heard angels singing when we first used our dishwasher. I felt my soul deepen its roots into this beautiful home with (fake) wood floors and heirlooms from old family members. They deepened and my heart was at rest.
Until I watched my husband take out the pots and pans we had JUST put away into another box. As we packed up clothes from Jon's grandma's dresser into another suitcase. As we took the shampoo out of the shower. I stood there in shock, and I felt the roots of my soul being dug out. Like a tooth being pulled. I felt it, deep and aching.
Upon telling him about the first month of our marriage, a wise man told us, "You two will know what it means to be sojourners upon this earth." We laughed. Until yesterday when it wasn't so funny anymore. I sought God and journaled fiercely and came to the realization that we are sojourning bodies with homebody hearts. Our hearts long to settle, to let our roots grow deep. We yearn to find something stable, a scent to come home too, the plates on the wall. The sound of the dishwasher. People whose hearts live close to our own, both emotionally and physically. And yet here we are wandering around this earth, while our Home is in a completely different realm that we will never see this side of death. We are wanderers, complete with ugly comforters and mini fridges and snowy highways. We long to rest and unpack our hearts, and most of us have nowhere to do so.
And the things in which we try to settle sometimes are stripped away, and we feel--I felt-- that tugging, pulling, aching feeling of upheaval from the temporary soil in which I had rooted myself., until I realized He is our home. We can rejoice in the hope of our God. sink deep into Him, His Word, His love. We can throw ourselves into this Home He provides, let our roots grow further and further. In Him my home, we eat our daily bread and drink our living water. The scent of His holiness and the rest and peace He provides shames our comfy bed in Ames and the Yankee Candles I got for Christmas.
And (this is my favorite) in Him, we can delve into the hearts of friends and family, intertwine the roots of our hearts with them, knowing the beautiful irony that though we may be in different states or time zones, we remain in the same soil of His grace and family.
And so this mini-upheaval I have experienced has been cause of great rejoicing. I hold my surroundings loosely and waved goodbye to our apartment this morning without a tear (which I can't say I did yesterday) and with the hope of the Rock into which my heart can take root. Whose soil is never too hardened from snow nor too dry to flourish. His comfort is much more beautiful than these hotel comforters and His feast cannot be contained in a mini fridge.
Hallelujah from Hannibal, Missouri. We are home, always.
The past few weeks have been fun and I was looking forward to it because I love change. I have loved every minute with my husband and I'm not sick of him yet (not sure if this is mutual). I have gotten to know people and swam and saw family it was a blast.
And then we came HOME. To our apartment, four days ago. Bliss. We unpacked everything. It looked awesome. Jon spent the entire day following me around with a hammer and nailed things into the wall. We made real dinners. We had leftovers. I put way too may decorative pillows on our bed and Jon shakes his head at me every night in bewilderment when we have to take them all off. I'm a bit too proud of the color scheme of our bathroom, and I could not stop looking at my grandparents' plates hanging in our living room. We lit candles every night and I swear I heard angels singing when we first used our dishwasher. I felt my soul deepen its roots into this beautiful home with (fake) wood floors and heirlooms from old family members. They deepened and my heart was at rest.
Until I watched my husband take out the pots and pans we had JUST put away into another box. As we packed up clothes from Jon's grandma's dresser into another suitcase. As we took the shampoo out of the shower. I stood there in shock, and I felt the roots of my soul being dug out. Like a tooth being pulled. I felt it, deep and aching.
Upon telling him about the first month of our marriage, a wise man told us, "You two will know what it means to be sojourners upon this earth." We laughed. Until yesterday when it wasn't so funny anymore. I sought God and journaled fiercely and came to the realization that we are sojourning bodies with homebody hearts. Our hearts long to settle, to let our roots grow deep. We yearn to find something stable, a scent to come home too, the plates on the wall. The sound of the dishwasher. People whose hearts live close to our own, both emotionally and physically. And yet here we are wandering around this earth, while our Home is in a completely different realm that we will never see this side of death. We are wanderers, complete with ugly comforters and mini fridges and snowy highways. We long to rest and unpack our hearts, and most of us have nowhere to do so.
And the things in which we try to settle sometimes are stripped away, and we feel--I felt-- that tugging, pulling, aching feeling of upheaval from the temporary soil in which I had rooted myself., until I realized He is our home. We can rejoice in the hope of our God. sink deep into Him, His Word, His love. We can throw ourselves into this Home He provides, let our roots grow further and further. In Him my home, we eat our daily bread and drink our living water. The scent of His holiness and the rest and peace He provides shames our comfy bed in Ames and the Yankee Candles I got for Christmas.
And (this is my favorite) in Him, we can delve into the hearts of friends and family, intertwine the roots of our hearts with them, knowing the beautiful irony that though we may be in different states or time zones, we remain in the same soil of His grace and family.
And so this mini-upheaval I have experienced has been cause of great rejoicing. I hold my surroundings loosely and waved goodbye to our apartment this morning without a tear (which I can't say I did yesterday) and with the hope of the Rock into which my heart can take root. Whose soil is never too hardened from snow nor too dry to flourish. His comfort is much more beautiful than these hotel comforters and His feast cannot be contained in a mini fridge.
Hallelujah from Hannibal, Missouri. We are home, always.
Thanks, Whitney, for sharing your heart with us. You are so REAL and I love that about you. God has richly blessed my son and his family with you! Everything will come together in His time but with Jon life will never be boring!
ReplyDeleteWhitney, your words are wonderful and inspiring. Keep on writing. Keep on believing. Keep on living! :)
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