I pay a-mortgage-a-month for a house I don't own

Two years ago my family and I moved back Home.

My groom and I were raised in this town. And our son was born into it.

I learned how to drive a snowmobile here.
I made mud pies and rode my bike down this quiet, lonely street.
I helped with hay by steering his truck while my dad picked up fallen bales.
I played violin and poked my bedroom ceiling with the bow.
I secretly kissed boys here.
I learned about potato picking and corn selling.
I got banged up and had my share of skinned knees.
I made my first forever friend here.
I learned how to run here.

I grew up here. Sort of.

The truth is, I've really only just begun growing up. 

*This place* where I did a lot of my childhood living, was a place where the fields weren't wide enough, even after I got married and moved to a house of our own.

And so, together with my groom and our two-year-old Boy, we set out to a land where I was wanted for my professional experience, and to where I hoped to grow.

We took a risk. And a choice that really was mine, alone; though I'd like to think it was made together.

I traveled to another state and bought a house without my husband. He told me this was for me. He never complained, though I could tell he wasn't thrilled. This wasn't his idea.

For two years we lived away from Home.
I thought I was happy-er.
I wanted to be. But I wasn't.

My groom would always tell me this was all for me.
And it pained me to hear him.

I resented the truth. 

Running away leaves a dust that clouds judgement.
I had ran so fast that I couldn't See.

And though I sometimes wish that choice didn't have to affect my family the way it still does, I trust that it was for purpose.

Beauty has bloomed in me as I've grown. I See it now.

Still, though, decisions have consequences and we're living this one. We are paying for a choice we made to come Home--a consequence of having decided to leave in the first place.

Every month we pay for something we don't own. A loan to cover the difference in the price we paid for the house we I bought, and the price we sold it for.

All to get us back Home--closer to family. Family who aren't perfect. But who are what we have been specifically given. Mercy in disguise.

I think of how the monthly mortgage payment of our first house--9 years ago--cost less than this monthly loan payment. And sometimes I think of what we could do with that money.

I think we could give it away--be generous. But the truth is, we wouldn't.
If we had more, we'd just want to do more--for ourselves. 

We talk about the cost of piano lessons for the Boy and wonder if we should stop--maybe he doesn't really like it, anyway. And we think about how we could use it to do *more.* But instead, we press on for our son to try something and see if he likes it.

Risks cost. 

And as I think about this, I choose gratefulness--for having taken our own risk in the move away from Home, and for our Father's provision to come Home, and for the fourth house we own now that really feels like *the one* (for now) and how it's really a gift we have no business in owning--
a true gift.

I choose gratefulness for my groom who gave me space to grow.

And, for this monthly payment, too; because, it keeps me grounded--reminded of His Grace, and so much more...the growth to accept my family just as they are, and for the gratitude I have for them and their purpose in my story.

So this payment for the thing we don't own, it's my sacrifice.
It's my worship. 

Thank you, Father, for the journey you allowed us, and the journey back, and the journey we have yet to See. 

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