XXXI: Three Year Honeymoon

I finally found the batteries. They were stored somewhere in one of the kitchen drawers.

This is what happens when you move from one place to another in your life.

The past three weeks have been mind-blowing. Time has sped up, seasons have changed, rain has fallen, sun has shined, and we have relocated from our apartment into a house.

True. Story.

There have been several, several moments over the past two weeks that I’ve sat in one of our chairs, adjacent to the living room fireplace, and just laughed. Eventually, the laughter fades away and I’ve found myself just staring through the window to our patio, or the fireplace, or into the kitchen. I rub my hands over my face and whisper to myself that I’m not dreaming. I count stars at night, and put trash out on the curb every Wednesday night. Our garage has successfully fit our truck and one of our cars. The basement floor is finished, the trim has been installed, and only the carpet for the second bedroom remains.

I’ll start using the fireplace this weekend.

We’ve made more meals in the past week in our kitchen than we had made in nearly three months previously in our apartment.

We have a home.
We have a home.

My runs now take me through the woods, along the lake, a place where I’m tempted to disconnect my music and just listen to the air. The local wildlife keeps me company, and on occasion a sailboat catches my eye. There are, so far, over sixty miles worth of trails for me to discover with my feet.

The sunsets are gorgeous as they reflect off the pristine glassy water on the opposite side of the dam. We’re exactly 1.4 miles away from city limits (I counted carefully).

On at least one instance we washed laundry in our house just because we could…Darco has never had her own washer and dryer, and I haven’t had one personally available for a decade now.

Our neighbors cut down a tree and asked if I’d like the wood for our fireplace. We have a pile of firewood for winter out the lower level patio door. I stacked the wood myself, out of the bed of my truck, while wearing  flannel jacket and a winter red beard. The internet has been installed in the home (this house has never had internet prior to us), and we’re finally dialed back into cyberspace.

We are home.
We are home.

Several years ago, near the time of the beginning of this website, I listened to a woman tell me about her marriage, her husband, and what she had learned along their time together.

She spoke of their, “Three Year Honeymoon”. Being from Texas, her and her husband were stationed in Seattle, Washington. At the time they had no children, no plans, and just each other. Their jobs were comfortable, their home was warm, and their life was calm. She said it was the longest, best honeymoon that she could have ever asked for. Sure, it wasn’t perfect, but the timing was.

I’ve thought over her words several times in the past few weeks. Each time I lock the front door, turn on the porch light, or listen to the rain hit the windows. For the longest time I envied this reality that she painted with her soft, southern drawl; trying to understand how someone can even get to a point of having that life.

No motor vehicles allowed.

Four years later I’m slowly starting to understand this strange paradise that I’ve stepped into. I can see stars at night, through my front door. The lake is 1/2 a mile away from my back door, and the trails closer than that. Our church? It’s 1.5 miles away. Darco’s work? 15 minutes. Mine? 20 minutes. I have driven to work and back for over a week on one tank of gas. Our house smells like fresh paint (basement), the potato soup I cooked, and toasted almonds (candle warmer). I know that my wife’s car will always be warm because it’s waiting for her in the garage each morning. Slowly we’re building an entertainment room downstairs for when friends eventually come over to visit.

As much as I’ve come to love the ability to write; words can’t paint the picture accurate enough to depict the unbelievable circumstance that Darco and I find ourselves in. There’s no rhyme, no reason, nothing as to why things worked the way they have, but in the end everything worked out.

Without doubt, without excuse, only God can work together something like this. I never realized that a physical building could be a testament to the grace that God demonstrates. This isn’t an answer to our prayers, it’s an overflowing cup that’s been an eye-opening reality to how mighty our God is…even in the seemingly smallest ways.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, my clothes need to be placed in the dryer (and I’ve never been more happier to type that).


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