My Momma Built a House
Even before the world was made, God had already chosen us to be His through our union with Christ, so that we would be holy and without fault before Him. Because of His love God had already decided that through Jesus Christ He would make us His children—this was His pleasure and purpose. Ephesians 1:4-5 Good News Translation (GNT)
To whom do you belong?
Our family of origin shapes us. God knew full well where He was placing us long before we entered this world. He chose our mother, our father, and the time and place.
It fascinates me. As the songwriter, Dave Matthews asks, “Could I be anyone other than me?” No. I think not.
These days I think of the frailty of this thing called life. I think of the people who came before me. I think of the conversations I have shared and the hands I have touched. I think of the places I have called home.
We make our decisions, we weigh out our choices, but somehow the moment in time we are born and where our feet touch the ground paints the picture with much broader strokes than our little ‘yeses’ and ‘no’s’.
How much did God put into motion? How much have I chosen? And to what purpose?
This is why I write my stories. Trying to figure it all out. Trying to make sure I am living with meaning… and not just letting one day slip unnoticed into another. Sometimes my mind thinks in the half-thoughts of rambling poetry. I think it is my spirit’s way of sorting things out. Please indulge me here:
The House on Shady Lane
I have the honor privilege responsibility
of belonging to a family.
A family that is evident in more than people,
but is also defined by place.
A house sitting on land that belonged to my Grandfather,
whom I never knew,
built by my mother when she was barely in her 30’s
for herself and her two daughters.
We pore over these black and white photographs,
white borders with dates printed in the margins.
July 1954.
There she is: my mother.
Dark hair smoothed back, earrings catching the light, dazzling smile,
leaning back in a chair in her new living room,
friends Mildred and Dot must be sitting
in the corner opposite.
My younger sister and I stare down
into these photographs taken before we were born,
before our daddy began showing up
suave and handsome with his boyish grin.
Sixty years later
we are all that is left of the once was
family of six.
We work like puzzle solvers,
trying to reconstruct this house
that held our family.
“See, there’s a window there in the corner
which must have disappeared
when she enclosed the breezeway…”
"That sofa must have been on that wall
before the den addition…
And why did she remodel the kitchen
after just five years in?”
My mother had built a house for three,
herself and Ann and Kathy…
But before a year had passed she had
affirmed wedding vows in the Living Room
and a year later was taking light blurred
photographs of me, reaching out,
one baby hand the only thing
in focus.
We seem to be a family that keeps all photographs,
even the most blurred or most unflattering.
But the house was too small for all the people
who came through its door,
and so the carpenters were called:
walls torn down; more bricks delivered.
Everyone was always welcomed.
‘The more the merrier!’ she would say
and add another chair at the table.
The daughters married, son-in-laws
came and went…
Grandchildren slept in the same cribs
their mothers had before them.
They learned to swim in the pool
and ate lunch at the same table,
watched the redbirds out the same window.
And here we are,
two old women, sisters,
raking the leaves, stacking firewood,
making plans to paint the kitchen,
remodel the bathroom.
“It’s too big,” she says.
“It’s a lot,” I agree.
The pool opens after the tassels fall
and closes when the acorns begin to drop.
The fireworks thunder on the evening of the fourth
and the Christmas tree
comes down from the attic in December.
“How long?” I wonder.
“How long will we continue?”
I haven’t seen the hummingbirds this summer
and the baby hawks have
left their nest.
I ask again: To whom do you belong? I have had two ‘families’; my family of birth and my family of marriage. Oddly, I have only lived in two houses; the house of my parents where I grew up and the house where my husband and I have raised our own family. But to whom do I belong?
Because of His love God had already decided
that through Jesus Christ
He would make us His children—this was His pleasure and purpose.
This is my clue to making the pieces fit together. There is more than my birth family and my family created by marriage and my own children. God chose me before the world began to be part of His family. It brought Him pleasure and purpose to do so.
“For I know the plans I have for you…”
Those plans always include family and place. Sometimes it is the family of birth. Often it is the family of our choosing. I pray for you that you have embraced God’s offer of adoption into His family. Does it surprise you to have such an invitation? Does it seem impossible that He loves you so much He desires to call you His child? Does it seem unbelievable that He chose you?
It does me, a little. But here it is in ink:
Even before the world was made,
God had already chosen us to be His
through our union with Christ…
Ah, there it is – the fine print: ‘through our union with Christ’. And just so there is no misunderstanding it is stated again: ‘…through Jesus Christ He would make us His children’.
To whom do you belong? There just may be a much bigger family than the one we live with here on this earth. There may be a home we can’t see yet that is constantly undergoing renovation – another room added here and the kitchen expanded there. Because the door is always open, and you are always welcomed.
The Father of the family is waiting for your arrival. And His Son has prepared a place for you at their table.
Questions: Who is the ‘family’ that has most influenced your life? Where did God place you to influence and make a difference? To whom do you belong?
* Dave Matthews ‘Dancing Nancies’ song lyrics from Under the Table and Dreaming