We recently moved out of white bread suburbia. A street picked from a happy film or advertisement.
I’d been praying about the move for awhile, long before the house was for sale.
It was, it is, lovely and safe and completely undiversified. It has all the perks of white bread, yet felt lacking for me and my children.
I want to raise them on a street with all walks of life. With opportunities to meet people who are different than us, who struggle differently, with the chance to be unhindered by appareance because our arms are already open. Yet, I also want to keep them safe.
Does safe mean comfortable?
God answered my prayer, and here we are. In a big beautiful house – so not in suburbia. And I wasn’t prepared for my own insecurities. I wasn’t expecting to find my comfort in an alarm system rather than my neighbors (who all seem very kind, yet different).
Still, I have zero doubt this is our home, our place to set in some roots. We looked at countless houses, we do not agree on much of anything let alone homes. And we stumbled quite accidently into an open house 5 minutes before closing…and BOTH liked it, and BOTH thought this could be our home. And it’s a 5 minutes walk to school and my parents.
Yet, my flesh stumbles and I’m humbled by my weakness, willing heart, and rampant mind.
We’re used to playing outside, and my Nici shouts hi and waves… to every single person who walks by (and it’s a busy corner) and he nudges me, “say hi mom, wave”. If I’m being honest, people passed I wouldn’t have said hi to without his nudgings.
And we’re slowly starting to meet everyone, at least the walkerbys, the likes we never saw in suburbia. And his little smile and waving hand is reaffirming we are right where we should be.
And God is good, and for the most part people are good.
And we are safe and loved even if I am still getting comfortable.