My three oldest children surprised me with the most amazing early birthday present—a commissioned watercolor painting of my new home! The gift overwhelmed me to tears, which became the source of several conversations between Titus, Lydia, and me for the next twenty-four hours as they attempted unsuccessfully to process the concept of “happy tears.”

This beautiful picture now hangs in the entryway to my home—a perfect location because I see it every time I walk down our hallway as well as every time I enter our home through the front door. I doubt it will ever stop making me smile.

Every mother who receives a tremendously thoughtful gift from her children knows the joy I feel, but this picture is even more than that to me because of all that my home means to me.

Through this home, the Lord has restored peace to my life and the lives of my children.

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul.” (Psalm 23:2-3a, ESV)

The moment I walked into the backyard of this house and saw the creek; the weeping willow trees; the duck family; and the large, hilly yard with endless possibilities for childhood play, I knew this was the perfect home for us. As I peered through the back windows of the master bedroom, family room, and kitchen and saw those same views, I knew that this home had a built-in source of peace and calm that would sustain me through whatever came my way. That has proven true over and over again as I have sat at my picture windows and watched the children play, the rain fall, the duck family swim, the sun set, or the herons take flight. No harsh words, no tension, no fear, no turmoil. Just peace.

Through this home, the Lord delivered me to a secure place where I could live independently and confidently.

“I waited patiently for the Lord; he inclined to me and heard my cry. He drew me up from the pit of destruction, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure. He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God.” (Psalm 40:2-3a, ESV)

Since moving here nine months ago, I have learned (with the generous assistance of a deacon in our church) that I can maintain a home and yard. I can use power tools, start a generator, mount smoke detectors, replace toilet handles, install doorknobs, and solve a myriad of new problems. I have met trustworthy, reliable people to help with the things that are beyond my abilities. My older kids helped me hang Christmas lights on our porch (maybe we will try the gutters next year!), my attic is actually organized (mostly), and the house stays comfortably lived-in but orderly. Instead of being overwhelmed by the responsibility, it has motivated me to do things I never thought I could do, to work hard even when I want to just sit still, and to ask for help when I need it.

Through this home, I saw how much my family loves and sacrifices for me.

“And all who believed were together and had all things in common. And they were selling their possessions and belongings and distributing the proceeds to all, as any had need.” (Acts 2:44-45, ESV)

When it became clear that I was hurting myself and the children by remaining in our previous home environment, the obvious question was where would we go? I looked at rental homes but quickly realized several intrinsic problems. Rentals are temporary and unpredictable and because of their unique needs, my three youngest children required stability and minimal transitions. Pets are not always welcome in rentals, and we had two dogs. Thinking about the stress of being in someone else’s home with all of the inevitable potty accidents, g-tube leaks, rogue Sharpies, and vomiting episodes overwhelmed me. I didn’t see any other options—even though I had strong credit scores, teaching an online writing course did not remotely yield the income necessary to qualify for a mortgage. But my family saw options—each and every one of them. They had been waiting patiently for me to see what they had seen months earlier, and they stood ready to pool their resources in one of the greatest acts of love I have ever experienced. Thanks to an incompetent loan officer, the process was laden with frustration at every turn, but God kept making a way where there seemed to be none. The day I turned the key in the lock of my very own home was a glorious day in which the impossible became possible.

Through this home, the Lord showed me that His plan is far superior to mine.

“The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps.” (Proverbs 16:9, ESV)

Once I had made the decision to move out, I started seriously searching for a home. Very quickly, I found the perfect place for us. It was a flipped house with brand-new everything, had a large backyard, and was within walking distance of our church. I couldn’t act on this home right away because several things needed to happen first. So I watched it and prayed for it to remain available. Friends looked at it and prayed with me. When the time came that I could make an offer, I just knew that God had held this house for me. But things did not go as expected, and the door seemed to be closing on my “perfect” house. I was confused and mad at God. As I cried out to Him in frustration, He revealed some false hope and lingering fear that was holding me back from walking forward in confidence that moving out was truly His will for me. As I released those to Him, He led me to my current home AND re-opened the door to the “perfect” home I had been praying about for over a month. The decision was pretty clear the minute I saw the backyard of this house, but it was sealed the next morning when one of my best friends returned from a trip and sent a text inquiring about “my house.” She meant the original house because she had gone to see it with me and had been praying with me that the house would remain available. She had been visiting her daughter and didn’t know about the events of the past few days. When I texted back to let her know that I was about to pursue a different house, she asked for the address to look it up. Not a minute later, I received a text that gave me chills: “You are not going to believe this. Michael (her husband) and I built that house in 1993.” Through all the bumps of the remainder of the home-buying process, I never had another moment’s doubt that this was the house God had for me all along. His plan is always superior to mine.

Through this home, I learned that God will provide for me and that all that I have is actually His.

“Even the sparrow finds a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, at your altars, O Lord of hosts, my King and my God. Blessed are those who dwell in your house, ever singing your praise!” (Psalm 84:3-42, ESV)

Soon after moving in, I began to feel guilty for how much I loved my home. I even prayed a prayer telling God that I was sorry if I loved the house and yard TOO much. In my devotional time soon after, He led me to a study of Psalm 84. And through that study, I realized that the house isn’t actually mine. It is His. And I am privileged to dwell in it. And when I sit in my special chair and look out over the creek and through the weeping willow trees and see the herons and the ducks live their lives before me or watch the sun set in glorious pink and purple hues, I am at His altar. I am singing His praises and being grateful for His provision and soaking in the peace and sharing the joy with my children and all who visit us here.

I cherish every memory we make here—celebrating holidays and birthdays, welcoming friends, making music, telling stories, cooking, watching movies, playing games, reading books, writing words—even experiencing disappointments, recovering from sicknesses, and crying tears. This is truly my favorite of all the homes I have ever lived in, and I hope I can live here for the rest of my life. But if God leads me somewhere else, I will be sure to follow because He has shown Himself faithful to always lead me home. 

Commissioned watercolor painting of 1004 Wymers Court created by Adriana von Helms (Instagram handle:  art.adriana.gail).