Building a Home That Heals

We wandered for a long time, bouncing from place to place and hoping it was finally the one where we could settle and raise our children. Where stability would take root again, and we all would be able to flourish.

Yet we found ourselves in temporary rental after temporary rental, hotels, and even the back bedroom of another family’s standard suburban home. Always surrounded by boxes, suitcases, and disarray. We struggled financially as we also found ourselves in work situations that repeatedly showed integrity—and even the law—were beneath them. Add in the family and church trauma that wreaked havoc long after we walked away, and me trying to obey the Lord’s instruction to build a business… we were a hot wilderness mess.

I did not recognize myself when I looked in the mirror. My reflection told the story before my voice ever caught up. Our children’s home and stability had been ripped from them, directly impacting their most formative years.

Our marriage was in shambles. I’m pretty sure the only thing keeping us together was poverty and a stubborn refusal to let them (that was a long list) take anything else from us. We were so decimated—individually and together—that we were barely surviving together, let alone as individuals.

I was irate that we had ever left home. Really, we had been forced out by failures, slander, and territorial spirits. I didn’t even believe in territorial spirits and certainly had not been raised in a faith tradition that taught much of very real spiritual realities. But we learned how very real they are. A holy stubbornness rose up in me and refused to allow anything to keep us from home. I knew where we had been was home. I knew that the Lord intended for us to be there. He had made it abundantly clear. So I fought to stay. When that didn’t work, I kept fighting for home. And eventually, we found ourselves back in the area where we were always meant to raise our children… fighting through homelessness.

That quick rendition of events leaves a lot of questions, I know. But we fought for our home and family for so long that I eventually wondered if we would ever be restored to stability again.

Earlier this year, when we finally signed all the paperwork and held our breath, we cried. I sat at the closing table in a beautiful conference room that overlooked a mountainous cityscape. The last time we had been at a closing table, it had been in angry defeat. We were signing away the only thing we had left—the place where we had planned to raise our children and build what the Lord had shown us to build. It was the final nail in the coffin of shame and humiliation. Wet, hot tears formed in my eyes, a few escaping down my cheeks as I signed away the promise.

But earlier this year was different. We laughed. I cried in disbelief. And I was scared. Even as I knew the Lord had led us to that moment, I wasn’t sure if I could do what needed to be done after leaving that room.

Could I make a house a home again? We hadn’t had a home in years. How long would it take me to hang things on the walls in hopeful expectation that we would get to truly claim it as ours and stay? Would I put flowers on the porch once our bank account caught back up? Or would everything stay barren and ready for us to pick up in an instant?

It has been a journey that I am still walking out. Restoration, and stepping into something more beautiful than we had before, takes courage. Fortunately, courage was forged in our elongated wilderness. But this house has both taken us back to the beginning and catapulted us into next. It mirrors our first house in many ways but also encapsulates everywhere we’ve lived since then. It breathes fresh hope into us. It reignited dreams. This home set us back on the path that we were always meant to walk—with beautiful restoration along the way.

So every photo of me painting a door, cooking a meal, hanging photos on the wall, or maybe even something bigger is an act of reclamation. It is an act of restoration and healing. It is me building what we were always called to build, step by step. Every single one is a victory. That’s what we are doing here. We are exploring and walking out restoration. We are creating a home that was ripped from us through evil in an ordained wilderness season. We are healing for generations and allowing it to spill out for others who need the same.

Thank you for joining me here. It is, and already has been, a beautiful journey. This is the place I warred to reach for years. Spoken words and prayers were planted long before we set foot here, and it is with awe that I watch it unfold.

Do I think this house is the last one? No. Even though that was the hope, I do not think this is our final stop. The bigger dream and vision have been set before us again. But in the waiting and dreaming, we are in a beautiful home that we get to make our own. It is everything we need and then some. We cannot and do not complain. For the Lord blessed us greatly in our years of non-stop trauma. And He is blessing us greatly now.

We are both hopeful and content in this home that is built solidly on Him. Come along with me as we continue forward.

Those who sow with tears will reap with songs of joy. Those who go out weeping, carrying seeds to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with them. Psalm 126:5-6 NIV