He Built a House

It's taken me too long to write this post.

I started it almost a year ago and had to stop. I realized I couldn't just write about the house. I couldn't write about the house without writing about the man who built the house.

And I realized I couldn't write about the man who built the house without writing about why he built it.

This is a big story. A sad story. And it's really not mine to tell. I had to ask permission. But I will still only tell it from my perspective.

The man we are talking about is my Daddy.

The house began with a dream. And this is what I remember of the beginning of that dream. I was a young child so there is a chance that my childhood lens might be a little clouded or rose-tinted, but this is how I remember it.

I remember making the drive out to Seabrook. It seemed like such a long drive. We'd come out just to look around. It was fun.

There was this big white house with double porches. It looked like one of those really neat houses that you see in movies. I dreamed of living in that house. There were two other white houses across the street. They were smaller, but just as pretty. They looked like family.

There were railroad tracks.

And old buildings that once were special to this small town. Had it really been a town?

There was an old post office that people still used. What fun it would be to have your own post office box! And a key to match it and to have to ride your bike to get your mail. I dreamed of having a post office box.

There were other old buildings that I wanted so badly to explore. They looked so intriguing.

And there were pecan trees. So many pecan trees. What I eventually came to understand was that this used to be a pecan orchard and some of those 'other old buildings' were the packing sheds.

The neighborhood smelled of onion grass and it made me want to reach my hand down under the earth and pull a small bunch out and take a bite. It smelled so delicious.

There were two matching silos. Had those been used for the pecans too? I wondered.

There was a dock that you could fish off or swim off or go crabbing off of. But you had to live there to do those things...

And we didn't.

That was the dream.

Mom and Dad would drive out there and imagine all of those things too. I'm sure just as I did, including wanting their very own post office box.

It was always a little sad when we would drive back home. To the house we knew and the busy street we lived on. Not that we didn't love that house too, but it just wasn't part of the dream.

I remember going to Park Day with our homeschooling group. We met at a house that was in Seabrook too (ironically this would one day be my family's house, my one-day-husband's family). As we turned left to go home, we would all longingly look out the car window to the right and say, "Maybe one day we will be able to turn right to go home..."

It was strange when that day came. I was 13 when we moved out here to this quiet little neighborhood. The roads were still dirt. The houses far apart. There were woods everywhere. Oh how we loved all those things.

Playing manhunt with friends became a favorite. Climbing trees and picking pecans off the ground to eat was another. Staying outside til after dark and taking long walks down to the dock that we could finally call our own, well it was a dream come true for my family.

We eventually moved into another house just down the road from the first one. I loved that house. I used to babysit for a family that lived in that house and now we did. It was strange at first. But it would eventually become our own.

I left that house to go to college. I remember the night before sitting on our porch swing. A favorite place. I cried. I had just said good-bye to my then boyfriend, who would become my husband. I didn't want to say goodbye to anyone else. Not to my parents or brother or sister. Or to my house where I felt so safe and at home.

I came back often to visit. I just couldn't stay away for long. I was sooo homesick.

I got married in that house. Well, in a church, but you know.

After that my parents decided to build a house in the neighborhood.

That decision didn't come easy.

I wasn't living at home anymore. I had my own house somewhere else. But that place was still so special to me. The thought that they wouldn't live there forever was a strange one for me. That I wouldn't be able to come sit on the porch swing made me sad. But things were happening out of their control and they knew they had to do something.

They put that sweet little white house up for sale.

I knew it was just a house. But it had been my house. I grow attached to things easily, so it was hard to let go the day they closed on it. It was so hard for many other reasons too.

My parent's world was starting to crumble. At first it was just small pieces. But then the pieces started to get bigger and bigger. We would later learn how big.

I remember watching my Daddy build this house. It seemed to take a really long time. So much was happening in his life and I remember thinking, building this house is what's saving him.

And I still believe that it did.

We don't really talk about that time much. It's almost like we aren't allowed. My parents have never said that. But it still feels that way. There were so many people involved. People we still know. People we were so close to.

That's just it. We were so close to so many and then we weren't.

How do you recover from that? I mean fully? How do you talk about it? How do you share honestly without causing further pain to others?

I don't want to do that. Not anymore at least. Maybe that's why I've waited so long to write about it. I'm not bitter anymore.. I've extended grace and forgiveness even when it wasn't reciprocated. I've moved passed the consuming anger, even if I still get angry.

Even though I would never want to cause further pain to those involved, I think it's important to acknowledge the hurt. I think it's ok to say, wait a minute, I've been left wounded.

Watching my parents go through that was excruciating. And still is at times. Knowing there was nothing I could do to take away their pain. Nothing I could do to help them regain their life as they new it before. And learning how much had truly been lost... the relationships, their identity and occupation, the good standing in their community and church, their reputation.  If it had just been money. If it had just been a house. If it had just been a job. If it had just been a friend or two.

But oh, it was so much more.

It was devastating and baffling and confusing. Almost like being side-swiped by a car. It just came out of nowhere and left our heads and lives spinning. The damage left us totaled, but mostly mom and dad.


But the hardest thing was to remember there used to be light in his eyes and there isn't anymore.

I know things are going to happen. I know that no church is immune to problems. I know that people are imperfect, that they make mistakes. It is foolish to expect anything else.

It's one thing to make mistakes. It's another to pass over someone lying in a proverbial ditch with a gaping heart-wound. That's just not ok. That's what it felt like.

But I guess in a way it is ok. Because nothing happens out of God's control. Nothing goes unnoticed by Him. Nothing happens in a person's life unless He deems it right and good and for our ultimate holiness and His ultimate glory. That's why we can forgive and move on and look to the future with hope.

If nothing else, (and there is so much more) I've learned that people are fragile. More fragile than we think. Sometimes we can't recover and wont until we reach heaven. Sometimes people smile when they really wish they would just die already. Sometimes their hurt runs so deep that several generations are effected by it.

People can't be looked at through a lens of black and white. We are so much more complex than that. And so our problems. I wish it wasn't so. I wish you could use a Bible verse like a bandaid. Or what worked for you. I wish we could expect people to give the right answer when they are hurting. But that's impossible when they still haven't found it yet.

You can't expect people to stand up and walk without a limp when they have been so badly crippled.

I've also learned that it's ok to talk about it as hard as it is. To share the pain. Not to inflict more pain, but in hopes of find healing for yourself and for others.

In giving us our stories, God never meant for us to keep silent about them. He meant for us to share them with speech seasoned with grace, as it were with salt. Sometimes salt burns. But sometimes that's needed for healing to take place.

So when I walk into this house that I now call home, it's sometimes weird to think that this is where my parents used to live and now I live here. I never lived here with them.

But I love that I live here now and that they live just behind us. At first I thought it would be hard to be so close. But after a year, it has only been good. So good.

So good to see my Daddy's house being used. Being filled with lots of grandchildren and noise and messes. That the table he built twenty plus years ago is still being dined upon by many who love him. Who know the man he is and used to be. And who only wish for his happiness and healing.

But even though it makes me so happy to be living here. I sometimes get sad too.

I get sad when I look at the concrete floor in the living room. I remember seeing it right after it was poured. I remember seeing my dad looking so beaten down. So discouraged and confused and hurt.

I remember the long hours he would be here. To escape. To survive.

I remember worrying so much. That he would fall or get hurt when he was by himself. That no one would know to come help him.  And no one really did know to come and help.

I remember watching Mom up so high on the scaffolding white washing the walls that turned out so beautiful.

I remember the question in her eyes. What's happened? Why?

I remember the isolation we all felt. And still feel at times. Knowing that people were innocently wondering and talking and not knowing how to treat us.

There is so much good represented in this house. There is so much pain too. Because it represents a time in the life of my family that is hard to remember. Hard to look back upon and see the good.

But we are choosing to see the good. And we are thankful for the blessings God has bestowed on our family. Not everything was lost. And so much was truly gained. Understanding God's grace over my life has been one of my greatest joys. I don't know if I would have otherwise.

I hope a year after living here wasn't too soon to share this story. I hope you understand my heart in this. I hope you see my family differently. I hope you see our fragility. But more importantly, I hope you see the strength of my Heavenly Father. And that His grace is all sufficient in our lives, no matter what course it may take. That you can be left standing!

Thanks, Daddy for the privilege of living under a roof that you built. It brings me so much pride to brag on you and your beautiful workmanship. You are one of the most gifted and talented men I know. I love that we are neighbors and that we share a yard. I love that your grandchildren run on floors that you laid. And that I cook in a kitchen you made. I love that you aren't perfect, that you make mistakes and that I can love you anyway. And I love that you love me the same. You and mom have come so far. God has given you a story. A story that is meant to be shared, so that His glory isn't wasted.
I love you, Daddy.

Lost and Found

Do you lose things easily?

Some people are just more prone to losing things. Keys, wallets, cell phone, kids...

Generally speaking, I'm not one of those people. I'm pretty organized, therefore, I pretty much know where everything is. Now I will admit that every now and then, my memory lapses and I can't remember where I put something. But I know it's in a good place, I just have to remember where that place is!

So when we lost our cat Purrl during our move, I was truly devastated. I mean, this wasn't a set of keys or a box of decorations or even a photo album or two. It was our sweet kitty. And we had lost her.

She had gotten into the moving trailer at our previous house and without us knowing, rode all the way to the new house roaming around that big scary trailer! By the time she got to the new house (a 30-40 minute ride) she was beyond scared. She was spazzing. As soon as the door was lowered, she bolted. Never to be seen again.

When Dustin told me what happened, he knew I would take it hard. He took me into the bedroom (away from all of his cousins and brother!) and gently told me that something bad had happened to one of the cats. My first thought was that she had been killed. But then to my utter dismay I realized that this truly was far worse. She was alive, but lost.

She was alone, scared and had no idea where she was. And I had no idea where she was. I immediately began walking the neighborhood calling for her.

There was no trace of her. It seemed she had just vanished. We talked to neighbors, posted pictures but to no avail.

Our hearts where heavy. There were tears, nightmares and sleepless nights and many, many prayers.

After a couple of weeks I knew it was still possible to find her, but I began losing hope. Three weeks. Four weeks. I had finally accepted that we would never see her again. I imagined her with another family instead of the other possibilities. And I encouraged my kids to do the same.

But they just wouldn't let it go.

They were still praying. They still talked about her as if we would find her any minute. They still asked me to drive slowly through the neighborhood with the window down calling her name. So we did.

I felt silly. And I was really sad for them. They really just needed to put this behind them. We could always get another cat. But it wouldn't be Purrl, they said.

Then the craziest thing happened one morning last week. I answered a call-waiting call. I don't always answer these phone calls. I mean, usually I will just call you back.

But I answered because I saw that it was my neighbor. And I knew that she had taken on finding Purrl as her own personal mission.

The details are a little fuzzy, but the conversation went something like this:

Teresa - "I'm so glad you answered your phone! I think I see your cat!!"

Me - "What!?"

Teresa - "Yeah, Cady and I are on a walk and I think I see your cat!"

Me - "Where are you??"

Teresa - "Just around the corner from you."

Me - "I'll be there in a second!"

I hung up and jumped up from the couch (well, jump is now a relative word when you are 8 months pregnant, but you know what I mean).

I screamed for the kids. Grabbed my keys. Ran (another relative word) and got the cat carrier. Made sure we were all in the car and flew down to where Teresa and our cat was.

As I made the short drive I was praying that this would actually be her. What if it wasn't? What if my kids were once again disappointed? I was envisioning driving them back home slowly with tears of disappointment streaming down their sweet cheeks and me trying to explain that God sometimes answers with a "No" but that doesn't mean He doesn't care or love us and that for the rest of their lives they would be faced with situations like these, but we are still called to trust and believe that He is good and... Yeah, I can get carried away very easily.

I didn't have time to rehearse any more of my speech, because we were there. There was Teresa, her sweet Cady and she was pointing.

"There, under the van."

I looked and immediately knew, it was our Purrl. She was crouched underneath a van, she looked wary and scared. I walked very slowly up to her, talking my kitty talk. I knelt down in front of her and reached my hand out to her. She came right to me and began rubbing my leg. I was so happy she knew me. The kids, watching from the van, now ran to us. They were loud and excited and I tried to hush them so that they wouldn't scare Purrl. That was silly. How can you hush such celebration!

We put her in the cat carrier and quickly deposited her in the van. I turned and hugged Teresa and thanked her. There were tears streaming down my face. She began to cry some too. I turned and looked at my children, they were crying too. But these were tears of gratitude and thanksgiving and rejoicing! Not the tears of disappointment that I had braced myself for.

We cried all the way home and so did Purrl, poor thing.

I put her on the floor of the laundry room. I let her out to get familiar with her new surroundings. She immediately crawled up into my lap, put her paws on my shoulder and rubbed and rubbed and rubbed me, purring her loud purr. She remembered.

It's funny, my kids didn't seem all that surprised. They knew she would come back. It was just a matter of time.

So can you guess what God taught me through this?

I don't often lose the things that I have control over. But when I lose control, I often lose hope.



Watching the faith and expectancy of my kids challenged me to once again grab onto that child-like faith. I was worried that I would have to restore their faith in God if things didn't 'work out'. But that is such a grown up problem, isn't it? They just simply believe. They don't have preconceived notions of how God should work or how He should provide or how He should answer. They just keep praying, keep believing, keep expecting.

What a challenge for us all.

If I've Done it Once...

**This post was started  a few weeks ago, in the midst of packing/moving**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So, lately Dustin and I have been a little frustrated.

And that frustration has been directed at the three beautiful gifts God has given us.

Olivia

Deacon

& Levi

My frustration comes when I've packed a box and the next day it's not only been emptied, but spread out into every crack and crevice, under beds and in drawers, etc...

How?

WHY??

Frustration comes too when I back over the newly purchased (for Christmas) scooter that was left laying in the driveway behind the van. After we have told them and told them to make sure to put away their toys so that doesn't happen - again!

This was NOT a good mothering moment...

I throw the van into park, then my pregnant self out the door after I feel the crunch of scooter under my tire. I then stomp to the back of the van, pick up the bent scooter and very dramatically throw it into the center of the yard. I then stomp back to the driveway, pick up what's left of the wheel and fling that into the yard to join it's destroyed significant other!

And there were witnesses. Four of them to be exact. Yes, my 3 children and my much afraid sister-in-law whom I don't think had ever had the privilege of seeing THAT idiot side of me.

There was silence in the van when I returned. Silence on their parts at least. No, I'm not done fuming quite yet... yes, I will leave you to assume the worst of me.

Then there is DQ who so willingly goes outside to pack up the shed and the yard only to find his tools and various camping items have been dispersed across the yard, up in the tree house, left out in the yard and woods and rain for who knows how long.

And when he goes to use the drill finds that that must have been one of the items left out in the rain, therefore is no longer in working order. And he is left to use a good old fashioned screw driver to take apart cabinets and dismantle them from walls.

We have been quite the disgruntled set of parents.

We were venting about such the other day and as we were talking I was reminded of a passage in Romans 8.

For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear,

but you received the Spirit of sonship. And by him we

cry, "Abba, Father."

The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God's children.

Now if we are children, then we are heirs - heirs of God and

co-heirs with Christ... (vs. 15-17)

God calls us His children. I'm sure there are many reasons for this. He is the Father. We have been given a spirit of sonship, adopted, we are His heirs... But I think the main reason is because, well, we act like children!

We tear apart what's been put together, carelessly throwing aside the important and disregarding the holiness of God and all that He calls us to. We try to fix, but instead of fixing, we just make a bigger mess. We are demanding, we whine and complain, and are ungrateful. We run ahead or lag behind. We push and we pull wanting to move faster. We are impatient.

We as parents deal with these kinds of issues on a daily basis. And oh the frustration! But let us have eyes to see that we are no different.

And let us not miss an opportunity to be reminded of the love of our Father. I wish I could extend that love purely to my own children. But see, I am a child myself. I am learning right along side them. So how is it that I get so frustrated with them when I am guilty of the very same things? But oh how much deeper my sin goes... it's really not the same at all.

That brings an even bigger challenge. How can I, who has been made co-heirs with Christ, who has received so much grace from my Father - who tells us to call him Daddy - how can I then not show that same love and compassion and patience to my children? Their offenses being so trivial compared to mine...

I pray that as I continue to learn these lessons, my children will be spared the vision of Mom loosing it and throwing the scooter pieces across the yard. Hopefully instead they will leave my home with a deep sense of the way THE Father casts our sins into the depths of the sea and remembers them no more. That no matter what the offense, His grace and love transcends them all.

Now hopefully I can put their unpacking skills to good use when we move into the new house!

(Which we did and are loving by the way. I can't wait to start on THAT post!)

Refuge

We are finding refuge this week.

For last week was a very long, difficult week.

We moved.

We lost a cat.

We buried the daughter of  dear friends.

We are finding refuge in a new home and in the arms of the Father.

We aren't claiming to understand. We aren't claiming to be strong. We aren't even pretending to be happy. We are sad, grieving and exhausted.

We plead with you to pray for our friends, who without any warning were forced to say good-bye to their sweet baby girl the very same day they said their first hello.

Once again, we are reeling.

And once again we are seeking refuge under the wings of the Father.

The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer,
³my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge,
my shield, and the horn of my salvation,
     my stronghold and my refuge,
my savior; you save me from violence.
⁴ I call upon the LORD, who is worthy to be praised,
and I am saved from my enemies. 2 Samuel

Again??

I'm not sure what this says about us...

but, we are MOVING again!!

Maybe it just means we are Gypsies... but I'm not sure I'm ok with that!

So yeah, the pictures are always the first to come down. Leaving empty, sad walls.

Then the books. Leaving empty, dusty shelves.

Then the boxes start to take over and I embrace the chaos for a while.

The frustrating part to this move is that I really can't do much. I'm not on bed rest, but I have been given strict orders to 'take it easy' by my midwife. I was on bed rest the last 2 months of my second pregnancy, and although my contractions have been nothing like they were with Deacon, they are still present and abnormally strong for only being 6 months. They have been waking me up at night.

So although I greatly appreciate Dustin packing every single box thus far, it is leaving me a bit disjointed feeling. I'm not going to know how to unpack! I usually know what's in most every box and the unpacking goes pretty quickly... Once again, I am being forced to embrace more chaos in my life!

I have been trying to figure out how many times I have moved pregnant... let's see:

Grace Park to Bonair- November 2002, 5 months after we were married

Bonair to Longcreek - January 2003

Longcreek to Seacrest - May 2003 - Pregnant with Olivia!

Seacrest to Longcreek - August 2003 - 3 months pregnant

Longcreek to Stagecoach - December 2003 - 8 months pregnant

Stagecoach to Sam's Pt. - March 2004 - Olivia 9 weeks old

Sam's Pt. to Stagecoach - November 2005 - Deacon 2.5 months old Olivia 22 months

Stagecoach to Willow Pt. - August 2006, 4 months pregnant with Levi, Deacon 12 months, Olivia 2.5

Willow Pt. to Sunset - August 2009, Olivia 5, Deacon 4, Levi 2

Sunset to Pine Run - March 2011, Olivia 7, Deacon 5, Levi 4

Pine Run to Stagecoach - February/March 2012 - Olivia 8, Deacon 6, Levi 5, and Baby Boy Qualls 6 months (pregnant)

So this is the 5th time I've moved pregnant, even though I've only been pregnant 4 times! And I've moved twice with a newborn - not sure which one is more difficult!

And if you're a smart one, you've probably noticed this is the 3rd time we are moving to Stagecoach. Believe it or not, we haven't lived in the same place twice (on Stagecoach that is!).

I look forward to writing a post about this house we are moving into soon.

I'll give you a hint...

...My Daddy built it. =)

Moving on up...

The past week has been grueling and exhausting. But we are seeing the light at the end of the tunnel and I am thankful.

We moved this past weekend!

We have moved before, many times before, but somehow I forgot how much work it is!! I was trying to clean off the stove top this morning and my arms felt like jello! So I left it dirty - it's not going anywhere.

Even as I'm typing I am realizing that my fingertips hurt! Ugh!

But as exhausting as it has been, it has probably been the best move we have had so far. DQ and I still love each other. No one got hurt that bad. And we managed not to forget anything or anyone! Plus, we moved into a great house that I think we are going to love - I mean, I already do!

We are renting from some dear old friends. (They aren't old, we have just been friends for a long time!) He was the leader of our youth group. That's pretty much where Dustin and I fell in love. But most importantly where we grew the most spiritually during our teen years. Mike was a wonderful youth leader, mentor and friend. And I remember Sherry made the best chili and enchaladas!

Dustin and I were two of the 8 or 9 that attended his first youth group meeting back in '98 I think. And it just so happened that we were able to be there for his last youth meeting in '09. Mike had a huge impact in both or our lives. I have never been challenged the way Mike challenged us. Not only spiritually, but in our purity as well.

For a long time Dustin and I thought that we would go into youth ministry. I think that was due in large part to Mike and the way he not only discipled us, but loved and cared for us. We wanted to do that for kids too.

That's not the direction God took us, but the imprint Mike left has always remained. I am so thankful God provided his leadership in our lives at that time. It forever changed us.

And now he is our landlord!! It's kinda funny and really great at the same time. We are so thankful to be here.

Someone asked me how many times we had moved and I couldn't remember exactly, so let's see:

Grace Park to Bonair

Bonair to Longcreek

Longcreek to Seacrest

Seacrest to Longcreek

Longcreek to Stagecoach

Stagecoach to Sam's Pt.

Sam's Pt. to Stagecoach

Stagecoach to Willow Pt.

Willow Pt. to Sunset

Sunset to Pine Run

I think I told them 11 times, but I was close! And remember this has happened in just 8 years of marriage!! I think we have the military beat!

Hopefully we will be here for a while and I can put down some temporary roots!! But I feel certain we will move a few more times before it's all over - it's just what we do!!