Crying at the end of my dirt road

There is something to be said for journaling. I’m not totally sure what it is. For now, I have to try to just find words to come off my finders.

Part of my problem with writing or not writing is that I’m compelled to try to be totally swallowed by a dramatic story that isn’t real (bing tv) instead of thinking about my own.

I just want to numb my own story and forget the pain.

I start crying almost every time I think about my house in Africa. I just want to not cry when I think about furniture or pets. When I think about my street neighbors, and my dirt driveway. It’s such a narrow gate. I’ve parked a car there for so many years. We drove up to that house with a lady showing houses so many years ago. She was the closest thing to a realtor in our city. The house was a heap of garbage, surrounded by overgrown shrubs. There was a path to the rooms along the back wall, and a lady had been renting those out for a small monthly fee. The front door was pretty and worked properly. It was one door that worked. The others were broken or without a handle. It was a mess, but we could see it working – after a lot of work.

There was a gentlemen renting a room inside the house, before we considered renting the entire house and property for a fee that was less than 300 dollars a month, if the landlord could get the house cleaned up. It was an amazing undertaking. There were so many bugs and rodents and snakes. We had to bug-bomb that house so many times after the owner did. It was a house that smelled just like fresh paint and insecticide. In January of 2009 we got the keys from the owner. The house had been bug-bombed, but within a week we knew we would have to really keep at scrubbing and bug-killing for a while before the bug infestation was really over.

We moved in anyway. Our rental period in an apartment was up. We had repainted the walls and scrubbed our 4^th floor apartment turned in the keys and moved into our new battle zone. I had yet to see a nice clean house for the amount of money that we could afford. This was our ‘new’ old place. We took the keys and moved our two little boys and our Mozambican son, two puppies, and a missionary into the new place.

That house kinda became our missionary almost ‘dream’ house. I mean the faded tile in the bathroom didn’t change the fact that there was a bathtub in the bathroom! We got a water pump up and running, and even installed a water tank for some pressure. This was an old house that was riddled with problems, but we were settling in very happily. We settled in that rental house for years. I’m sad to say goodbye to that house that has been a friend.

We’re closing our rental contract with the landlord in July. We will have rented that house for seven and a half years. I’m a bit of an emotional train wreck. I’m literally grieving this change. My oldest son asked if he is going to see the house again. I said that we can pass by the house. I know that by the time we do pass by the house it will be different but the same. It will have different people there. And that’s going to be ok.

Its not ok right now, but other things are ok. And I’m doing my best to take pictures and tidy up things about the house. When I can’t bear it, and I cry about a sofa or a chair, or my dog being to old to learn a new house and family, I cry a bit and change the subject. That’s my coping right now. So writing is hard, because I’m not sure its time to open the floodgate. For now, I’m going to type one letter at a time, and or those of you who tune in, I’m sorry its emotional stuff. This is where I am right now.

Thank you for reading. It’s a kind gesture. I hope maybe you feel less foolish for being emotionally attached to your house, room, furniture, or something material. We all work through these things when they come up. Its ok to cry. Its important to grieve through transition, and celebrate change. There’s some weird kinda balance that helps us keep a sound mind. That balance is found inside one person’s heart. That’s Jesus. He’s everything. His mind is perfect, his emotions are perfect and perfectly interacting with his thoughts and we have been given the mind of Christ as adopted sons and daughters of the King.

Its ok to need, in fact is important to know how much we need Jesus. Right now I know how desperate I am for him. I love that my desperate hunger for his perfection to show up in my life doesn’t ever leave me wanting. Oh how he loves me….

That’s the kind of love that never fails. So I honestly say, in the middle of my emotional and really real transition, I have so much love to give.

Lots of love,

Missionary Momma Mia