When my mother passed away, and my sister left our hometown for the east coast, I inherited the house I was raised in. When I was a child, our home was rarely a happy, joyful place. Living with an alcoholic father meant our home was usually a loud, angry, and stressful place or a silent place filled with the tension, and pressure, of the next impending explosion.
By the Grace of God, the same home is now a dramatically different place. The house may be the same but the atmosphere is entirely different. My children are free to be creative, expressive, loud, and messy. There is the occasional disagreement because there are seven people living here and it's bound to happen. But there is grace, forgiveness, and mercy for all.
Tonight, I'm listening to the happy sounds of two of my children collaborating to create a Christmas Eve production. The other three have created a "swimming pool" for their dolls and stuffed animals. Every day I am grateful for God's story of redemption in this house and, more importantly, in my life.
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