I’ve shared here before, about our daughters Katy and Maggie who are living together in Washington D.C…the Lucy and Ethel road trip we took to move Maggie out this September, and the story that’s been unfolding as they search for a faith community and pursue their dreams.
But here’s one thing that’s been bugging me. They keep referring to the house where their apartment is as “The Haunted House.”
Now granted, theirs is the only occupied apartment in this 4-plex, but the reason they call it that has nothing to do with weird noises or needing Ghost busters. It’s just that they live on a delightful street of well-kept row-houses and theirs, in comparison, looks like the stereotypical haunted house.
Theirs is the one to the left of the cute blue one with the flag out. The one with the rusty wrought iron fence and the chipping paint you can’t see from here.
For a long time they couldn’t turn off their stove unless they unplugged it. And the smoke detector was so sensitive that it screamed every time they made toast.
Green Gables. Sunnybrook Farm. Graceland. Haunted House.
That name may suit the outside appearance, but not the heart and spirit of the place.
Walls have echoed with lively conversation among friends about what church should be, laughter has spilled out the windows as folks have gathered around the girls’ tiny table for meals. Hugs have been shared. Plots have been hatched. Love has abounded.
“Lord, I love the house where You live, the place where Your glory dwells.” Ps. 26:8
“And in Him you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by His spirit.” Ephesians 2:22
A dwelling where God lives… like the home I grew up in that was a warm hug – safe, loving, making everything ok. My friend Sue’s beautiful home on a lake that’s a home of grace, peace…a refuge. My friend Deborah’s home that exclaims “Welcome!” and overflows with the abundant hospitality of God. My sister-in-law, Betsy’s house is one of joy and laughter.
Homes where God lives.
What might your home be named?