Traveling from place to place can be so exciting. There are always new sights to see and sounds to hear. At every turn, there are new people to meet. This is exactly what my folks did in their early years. Home was hitched behind them as they traveled the United States as Evangelists. At one point they had two babies riding in the back seat of the pickup truck. Brittney and I were very young during those years but I do have a few flashes of memory from those times. For all of us, pulling into a campground and setting up camp was home. We would get to ride our tricycles around while dad hooked up the necessities outside the camper and mom worked on the inside. An evening fire and picnics were common place. My sister and I slept in the back of the camper in our pink bunkbeds with heart covered sheets. Ruffled curtains hung on the windows that matched the sheets. In the little snippets that I remember from those early years, we were having the time of our lives.
My folks were traveling out west for several revivals they had lined up, when they passed through the town of Pierre, South Dakota. My mother told me in a letter she had written to me, “As we passed through the city of Pierre, it just felt like our roots were here, it felt like home.”
When your growing up years feel larger than life it’s hard to imagine another place could ever be as wonderful. As Mr. Harvey, a dear family friend, has told my folks many times, “Home is where you raise your kids.” I knew I had to find it. I didn’t want to miss out on the greatest adventure of my life just drifting. Aunt Bea, in “The Andy Griffith Show” says it perfectly, “Well, I guess that’s how it is with these drifters. They get the urge and they go. Pity they’re so restless, unable to stay in one place for too long. They miss so much.” I don’t want to be a drifter. I want my family to smell the same smells coming from the kitchen. I want them to hear the same creaks in the floor. I want them to know what it feels like to have neighbors that feel like family. I want Eva to know the same porch light that flickers at dusk. That can only happen in a place where your roots are allowed to run deep.
Still, the thought of the unknown is intimidating. Familiar will keep you trapped if you let it. Familiar will disguise itself as safe, responsible, and stable. None of these are bad qualities, in fact, without them our lives will never be all they were created for. Erwin Macmanus said, “Although you are grounded in your past, you must not be grounded by your past.” Knowing when to settle is a skill that has a fine line between quitting and finishing. When you know what your life is about it will have such a profound impact on the decisions that you make. It will show you which ground to give up and when to press on.
Somehow, we get the impression that dreams look like big white fluffy clouds and we simply jump from cloud to cloud embracing our tomorrow with no obstacles. But the truth is, some of those clouds have rain in them; Lots of rain. I had to learn, no matter what, rain or shine, the only way to tomorrow was through today. God was ordering our steps, not our miles. I doubt seriously if anyone would have blamed us if we had settled and just quit. Living in an empty house, a camper, and an apartment made us feel more like nomads than dream chasers. Living out of suitcases and battling one obstacle after another makes a person begin to question what they believe to be true, but there was something in Chuck and me that wouldn’t let us quit. We just knew the long-awaited promise was going to become a reality, and it finally did.
As we drove to a new state, a new city and pulled into our new driveway for the first time, it was a moment I will always remember. It was just like my mom said, “It felt like our roots were here. It felt like home.” There was nothing spectacular about it for anyone else, but for us, it marked the end of a fifteen-month journey. The finish line was crossed as a family. There was so much excitement shown from the three of us. Each in our own way. We never noticed that it was pouring down rain during portions of the day, which just seems to be God’s stamp of approval for us.
The first morning waking at our new house, I sat in my front porch rocker listening to the sounds of a woodpecker off hammering in the trees. I heard an owl making his last hoot before the sunrise. I could hear the leaves rustling and the creek gurgling by. I watched a lonely traveler make his way down the road. Just before dawn was about to break, I looked up and saw my porch light flickering. I couldn’t help but smile. I pray it’s the same porch light Eva lives by her entire life, knowing, she better be home by the time it’s turned on. I pray it’s the same porch light that her daddy turns on when her date brings her home for the first time. And without question, if she ever loses her way, I pray it will be the same porch light she follows home.
A house is just a shell. It’s the people inside that make it a home. For that reason, I plan to leave a trail a blind man can follow. I will find a closet to mark up with inches grown each year. I will spend my time mopping hallways where muddy feet have run past and covering the refrigerator with artwork. I plan on placing family photos throughout the house as a timeline to follow. I will make sure our roots run deep here with hard work and diligence to the task at hand. Laughter and tears will leave their mark on our new home. When Chuck and I are old and gray and our time comes, whoever lives here after us will, without question, be able to say, the Howard’s lived here. It was the place they called home.
Welcome Home Howard’s
“And they found rich green pastures and the land was broad, quiet and peaceful…” 1 Chronicles 4:40
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