As long as ten years ago, I would sometimes drive by a beautiful building, or a well cared for small house, and wonder who owned it, and how they obtained it. It wasn’t an envy, more like an admiration kind of thing. But I did wish and ponder if I would ever be able to own a second piece of property, as an investment. I had a conversation with the Lord about it— asked Him what he thought of such a notion, would it be all right with Him? Then I went about life, and didn’t think too much more about it.
The Lord remembered me.
My parents were blessed with the ability to leave my siblings and myself a good inheritance. Though the summer God plucked my Mother was a forlorn one, it opened up an avenue for me, heretofore untraveled.
I was happy for Mom’s new eternal residence, but my spirit felt dampened. Curiously at the end of a few weeks, I felt a heart tug, to go back to Grand Rapids, my birthplace. It was a yearning, a longing. I knew things were not as they were sixty years hence, but I still wanted to go. To see my childhood house again, and to walk down Garland street, find my playmates’ houses was compelling. I could find two of my grandparents’ homes, and see the South Methodist church and my old elementary school. Best of all, perhaps I could find our cottage on the lake, a thirty minute drive from the city. A cousin did some hunting, and through her efforts, found the area of the cottage on Big Lake. Astoundingly, it had become listed for sale/Open House, two days after my mother’s death.
I did not take this as a sign, nevertheless thought it remarkable, and by summer’s end, made plans to fly “home” to answer what felt like a call on my heart. Having grown up in Grand Rapids with summers at this cottage, it was a powerful thing to do. My joy abounded.
Recently, I read Psalm 87 and at verse 6, was caught in its wonder. “The Lord records as He registers the peoples, ‘This one was born there.’” Following the script, it said ‘Selah.’ This means stop or pause and think about it, something my mother taught me.
I flew to Grand Rapids that August, with my husband. It was exclusive and thrilling to re- visit our 1950’s dollhouse cottage, put myself inside its walls, climb its steps, touch the knotty pine kitchen cabinets my father had made, go down to the lake and sit on the dock, (albeit a different one)and find the old fish house, with some of its foundation blocks still in place. As I stared at them close up, a Daddy Long Legs came up over the top edge of its wall, as if my own father sent it, to acknowledge he knew I was there. He was the one who taught me not to be afraid of spiders, and I still remember how he did so, letting a Daddy Long Legs crawl over his hand. Emotion washed over me.
Long story shortened, God did not have the cottage in mind for us to purchase. It was too pricey, and too remote—on a dead end road, not safe to be there on my own. My husband said a lake property didn’t interest him, and he would only come twice a year. Other things soured the option. There was no internet service, no city water, no sewer service, it had a propane tank, and the nearest town was ten minutes away. I realized I wasn’t a wilderness kind of gal. I wanted to live in a small town, where there was a sheriff. Because God drew these parameters for me, I could let go of the cottage.
We looked at other houses. The nearest fun town was Allegan, so we took that road. After months of searching, and a major rejection on an offer, by December, a perfect little house near the historic downtown opened up for us. It was ideally suited to our needs in every way. And it was for a price that if in Tucson, would sell for three times as much! Amazing.
A 1933 home requires a lot of tender, loving care and grueling work. We enjoy it three times a year, to partake of three seasons: spring, summer and fall. We are making improvements that are safety driven, function driven, and beauty driven. We have found a loving church family nearby, so what more can we ask for?
Now the hard part is leaving our home in Arizona to come here, and leaving Michigan to go back. I hate good byes. It was hard enough to say goodbye to Mother, and I can’t say I did it well. I leave both Arizona and Michigan reticently, when it becomes time to depart.
Recently, it became that time again, to return to Arizona, and the blues set in. I was bothering myself about it, for days. I didn’t know how to help myself past this.
God remembered me, again.
I was babysitting/playing cards with the pastor’s kiddos, when it was near time for me to say goodbye. I told them, “After this game, I need to leave.” (Giving cues is helpful to small children.)
The second oldest boy’s face lit up and he said,“Oh boy!”
Talk about laugh out loud! His mother heard, and corrected his manners. She explained she told him he could play a video game after I left. No wonder he was thrilled. Ha!
Immediately, I realized God had given me a gift.
If the Lord calls us from one place to another, we can receive it with some component of joy, if not in full measure. Sorrow has its place, and is appropriate in its timing. But at some point, sorrow needs to take a back seat—it cannot be so big that it rules us.
God has things to give us, sometimes elsewhere or without the person or things we want to cling to. He has things to show us, because He loves us so much.
So, I’m flying back to Arizona tomorrow. Oh boy!