It’s week three of my guest post series “Home is where…” and I’m feeling like I’ve got some kindred spirits out there in blog land. Big thanks again to Nanci and Laurel for their posts! Today, my guest is Anne Marie, a kind a wise soul I’m blessed to know through church friends we have in common. She and I have a lot in common – we love Jesus, like to eat real food and we’ve both experienced the same running SNAFU. I think you’ll really love her post!
Home is Where You Heal
I went out on a run last week that should have been normal. It was anything but normal. There had been a light drizzle that afternoon, and the sun was just setting when I got home from work. Really, it was beautiful, cool weather for May. A network of trails backs up to my street, so I was just getting started when I crossed a smooth bridge and fell – somehow simultaneously – on my left knee and right hip. I yelped and got up, grateful no one saw. I started to limp back to my house, and it dawned on me that since I was only a little banged up, I could probably keep going on my run. So I did. Found a hidden trail in fact that was even better than what I’d be traveling on all my runs before this point. I ran alongside a creek, found some beautiful plants, and I loved every second. I got home and iced my knee with frozen vegetables and watched some TV. Perfection. I was already feeling better.
Rewind a couple years to a seriously banged up time in my life…
My sister passed away suddenly and I was absolutely devastated. I had a hard time with everything – getting out of bed before noon was an accomplishment some days. I asked hard questions, that didn’t really have answers. The light in that dark time was a group of friends that absolutely rallied. They called. They hugged. They listened. In that comforting, quiet space, I could heal from something terrible. And I found home in that community.
I found home in some precious words, too. Psalm 51:8 says, “Let the bones that you have broken rejoice.” I never really thought about what it would mean for God to allow our bones to be broken until I lost my sister. And then I would just cling to the idea, the promise, that one day these broken bones would rejoice. I believe those were healing words. I believe they were my home for a season.
Wherever your home is, let it be a place of healing. I love to think of home, not just as four walls, but as a place where I can dwell and find rest and hope.
Now my home is happy. There’s great rejoicing, funny stories, good friends, and warmth. I’m glad that this is home for now. Wherever I go next, I know where I can find healing. I know how I can be at home.