Sharing this post I wrote back in the spring. I realized I haven’t shared much of my story and past here yet.
Home.
That one little word has the ability to bring on a rush of emotions and memories. Home, a place that should hopefully be a haven of rest, filled with laughter, family, and friends. Somewhere you feel an overwhelming sense of belonging. Until fairly recently, when I thought of home, these things weren’t what came to mind. Home was a place I dreaded being. I lived in constant worry of what I would find when I returned. The discord, fear, anger, and resentment that seemed to always be lurking in the countenances and attitudes within my house was oppressive. I never felt truly loved or accepted. By grace, Jesus has given me a new home with the Harvey family. As I was looking around today it occurred to me that for the first time in a very long time I’m able to look forward to coming home. I’m loved, cherished, and welcomed here. Meredith and Jonathan Harvey are almost like older siblings and almost like parents to me. They’re protective of me (ahem, over-protective Gru), but know how to be loving in that, they are there when I need advice on anything and everything, and they love me like one of their own children. With my parents going through a messy divorce and my family demanding I choose sides, leaving me alone and stuck in the middle to watch my already broken family completely shatter, they’re there for me to help me pick up the pieces of myself and put me back together. Here, I am safe and secure, reminded of my worth in Jesus’ sight and theirs. I watch them with their own children and know that their precious little boys will never know the same insecurities and fear that I did because they are being raised in such an amazing and loving home. A home that they’ll be able to look back on with smiles and many memories of afternoons playing in the backyard and spending time with their family and friends laughing. The home where I was welcomed in, and for the first time know how home really feels.
