these old walls

the stories our homes could tell

“Home isn’t where you’re from, it’s where you find light when all grows dark.” - Pierce Brown 

I love the quote above, especially now, as an adult thinking back about my life and my childhood home, but especially about the home I made for my three sons. When our lives changed and the family unit was broken, I became even more  intentional about our home and what took place within the walls of our home.  

We recently had our two grandsons for the weekend, and I cannot help but feel nostalgic about motherhood when I am with them. There’s so much about them that reminds me of their father, Anthony, but in general, it triggers memories of times when all three boys were home, and I was a young Mom and then a young single Mom.

I want all our grandchildren to love being with us and love coming to our home. I want our home to be a safe haven for them, a place where they can escape the lies and the darkness this world will throw at them. I want them to trust that in our home, they can find the light/truth, and know they are loved, unconditionally, just as I wanted this for my sons. 

I had a good childhood; strong, Godly parents who loved the Lord and taught us to do the same. They lived the example of giving back to community through their involvement, and they provided a stable and secure home for all of us. It wasn’t a  Cleaver's home, but it was solid, and I feel blessed.

When I think back over my  years at home, I’m often saddened to think that I wished those years away. Knowing what I know now, those years were fleeting and over in a blink. Yet still, I walked away with so many life skills because of the foundation built by my parents and the family interactions that took place within those walls. In fact, little did I know how much those skills would give me the strength and confidence I would need later in life.

Wouldn’t it be cool if the walls of our homes could speak?  What if they could replay all the memories throughout the years? Would you only want to remember the good or would you want it all to be replayed? Would it help us to understand our parents and ourselves better? Or would it bring about deep wounds and dark emotions?

I am not unaware that not everyone grew up in a home such as mine, and I am not saying my childhood home was at all perfect because it wasn’t. In fact, I am not certain my own sons would want to remember everything from their childhood homes. In fact, the fact that I have to use the plural speaks volumes.

What child wants to have Mom’s house and Dad’s house rather than a home… 

If these old walls, 

If these old walls could speak 

Of things that they remember well, 

Stories and faces dearly held…

(Amy Grant-If these walls could speak) 

I’m heartbroken to know some of the things the walls of our earlier home, pre-divorce, would say if they could speak. I am certain there would likely be more stories of tension, heartbreak, tears, and deafening silence than joy.

But… I do know there would also be stories of belly laughs of toddlers, singing, music, the infamous Tupperware/makers  space cabinet/fort, finger painting in diapers and underwear on the kitchen floor, bible stories, and bedtime prayers.  Those were the precious moments, now memories, that kept me moving forward in those days. While the walls of our home at that time might have one story for my sons, they would have another one for me.

Those walls would tell of my tears shed for the life I wanted for our family but was not in control to provide for them. They would tell of a wife who desperately wanted to be loved and respected, especially because of the impact it would have on her sons, but never was. They  would speak to the fear we all had in our home. They would tell of a young woman who was always strong and independent, slowly, day by day being broken and convinced she was nothing and losing her mind.

Yet, the best story they would tell, is of a young woman whose faith was growing deeper and becoming very personal. They would speak of a Heavenly Father who never left her side, and while I wasn’t aware of it, I was being prepared and refined for what was yet to come. 

If these old-fashioned windowpanes were eyes, 

I guess they would have seen it all - 

Each little tear and sigh and footfall, 

And every dream that we came to seek 

Or followed after, 

(Amy Grant-If these walls could speak) 

It’s 2002, I am driving to Indiana, moving from Kansas. My three sons’ precious faces I see in my rearview mirror. Such  sweet, innocent, and hurt little faces staring back at me as we leave our last “family” home to our “new life” and new home, and then I get the phone call, I had been laid off from work. This adds a whole other dimension to single motherhood and moving. 

The wise woman builds her house, but with her own hands the foolish one tears hers down. Proverbs 14:1

photo by Emmanuel Phaeton @emmanuelphaeton

I deeply desired to be the wise woman. 

We move into our place on Roxbury in Zionsville. We now have another new set of windows and walls to be a part of our story and of the dreams I was seeking. This is the home that would have the most stories to tell. This home was where my sons and I walked some very painful and challenging roads together. I cannot fathom the tears those windows saw, or the crying out in anger for God and His guidance and direction, and His wisdom and discernment that those walls heard as I walked this new path alone.

If those walls could speak, they would tell you of my imperfections, my brokenness, my weaknesses, and mistakes. They would tell my sons that I am sorry for the mistakes I made trying to do the right thing, but often times learning as I went. They would tell you that the four of us had incredibly stubborn bents, and often our pride foolishly drove conversations. Yet, those same walls would also tell you as Matthew 7:25 says, “The  rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock.”

In the midst of it all, our home was built on The Rock and God was faithful to get us all through some of the roughest, darkest days of our lives. In fact, if those walls could speak, they would tell you that I was in that home, all alone after all three boys had moved out. As I stood in their rooms, at their windows, I cried many tears thinking of what we had overcome, what we were still going through, and that I owed those young men for making me the strong Godly woman I am today.  

I remember thinking of the lyrics of Amy’s song, specifically, “Here's someone who really loves you; Don't ever go away.”  

photo by Kristina Tripkovic @tinamosquito

“A house is made of brick and mortar, but home is made by the people who live there.” - M. K. Soni 

Something to consider. What stories would your walls tell? What lessons would you learn from them? What stories will your loved ones tell?