For the last year, I've lived in the basement of friends. I told you in another post how not many people knew as it's an awkward place that often draws pity, and your pity makes me squirm.
The family who has let us live here was one I babysat for for several months. When I was getting to the end of my lease in the small cottage we had fled to at the beginning of my separation, I literally had no where to go. I had no real job, no job history, no landlord history because of living in military housing for so long, and no prospects. She knew that at one point my solution was going to be the women and children's shelter nearby. She and her family opened their house and their heart and made a huge commitment and sacrifice. She offered me the space in her basement. It was nothing short of miraculous for me.
My ragged, broken, grieving, angry family moved in one year ago, and we have nestled into this cozy space while we have worked on healing, boundaries, grieving and growing. It's been a rescue of sorts, and I've joked with her that my rescue reminds me of the SPCA commercials- I was the broken, battered, and bloodied dog with the sad eyes and hopeless posture, but now, after being fostered by this family for a year, I'm the shiny-coated mutt with a bouncy gait and wagging tail.
That foster family who lived through my family's fighting and tears and loud energy, is moving out today. They have graciously allowed us to stay here and take over the rest of the home and rent it. It feels a little bit like Christmas morning.
I've almost always lived in military housing until my separation. This is the largest house, with the largest yard we've ever had, and the first house I get to work on a bit to make it feel more like mine. I get to paint the colors I've chosen, and I will decorate. I have been living for a year with a kitchen that has been like camping, and as a foodie who loves to cook, that has been difficult. The bar kitchen down here isn't made for real living, and so the counter top oven I bought from Wal-mart and the two eye burners and microwave I've used have been it for one full year. I couldn't cook more than one thing at a time though, because the fuses would blow, and so we have eaten lots of convenience food, or one pot meals, crock pot things or just snacky foods. The grateful heart I have now for a basic American kitchen is swelling with thanksgiving.
I cannot tell you what this year has done for me. This has been the nest where I've let my broken wings heal. It's been the place where I've hunkered down and taken a deep breath and surveyed the damage so that I can figure out how to rebuild. It was the house where I became a divorced woman with four children alone. Where I have answered hard questions from my children, and watched as they have worked through much of their own hurt.
It has been the house where we brought home our puppy as a new family of five, and the place where I hid and rested and healed.
It's also been a home where I have gone without many things I had previously taken for granted. I have shared a room with my daughter for close to two years now, I've shared a closet with her (the tiny sized one that is in many guest rooms). I've shared a bathroom with all of my children. I haven't had much privacy, a real kitchen, a dishwasher, or a linen closet. I have tiny windows instead of large ones to hold sunsets and pretty drapes. It's been a literal tucking away, and I feel that my 'emerging from the cocoon moment' is at hand.
With the larger space comes larger bills. I will be the main provider for this family in every way, and every bit of it looks completely impossible on paper. But my life hasn't worked on paper for two years or more. I have yet to get to the very end of my money. When I have a need, a true need, it has been amazing and miraculous how it is creatively met. I have dozens of stories that would make your jaw fall in amazement at the ways God's net swings out beneath me before I hit the ground.
I'm terrified. My excitement at having the house this next year has been tempered some by the fear of how in the world we are going to make it. By all normal estimates, I should not be able to be here, but God never does work that way, and my story is being painted beautifully in such a way that points to complete provision and faithfulness.
I'm excited to spread my wings. To lean forward into the wind and let it catch me so I can soar without the relentless flapping I've been doing. To get to float and glide in the knowledge that I am seen, and my kids are seen, and we won't be allowed to fall. I am both terrified and excited to see what this year holds for us. And I'm completely excited to have my own closet again.
My moment is now. I'm hopeful that my wings are ready.
