little houses

So much can happen in a day...
these days anyway.

Within hours I shift from seeing only hope and promises and God's hand,
to feeling fear, hopelessness and lack.
I'm told that the key is to stay in the moment.  I keep hearing this.  It's as if the world around me is a needle stuck on this refrain. 
I know it's right. 

I don't know whether it's possible,
for me,
yet.
If you look back, you regret.
If you look forward, you feel anxious.
If you sit still in the moment, you realize you are safe.  You can live the five minutes in front of you.  Then the next five.  Then the next five.
I mean I guess that's how it works.

Last night, I totally despaired.  It made zero sense, because all I'd seen during the day was God's love and provision.  But I'd be lying if I didn't admit that by 8pm, I'd lost all but a tenuous grasp on the tail of it.

This morning wasn't better.
I couldn't see good things to come.

Then a minute ago, I was rummaging in my desk, and I came across this:




this was taken the day he finally had to tear it down.  it had seen better days. 
(there's an umbrella on the porch; the walk to the house took HOURS in the rain I guess)























This is one of my favorite childhood memories. 
Built by my dad. 
Detailed.  Fun.  Made with love.
Decorated with adhesive letters.
We were really busy making restaurant menus and signs at the time.  These letters were lying around the house constantly and I stuck them on everything.  Love an object?  You'll love it twice as much if you label it!

Three of my closest childhood friends and I formed a club called "Le Prep" and met here.  We each held positions of authority.  Since it was my house and I was a take-charge kid, obviously I made myself president.  (Technically there was a vote, but I'm pretty sure there were nuances of a Saddam Hussein election).  The second bossiest girl was vice president.  The shortest girl was secretary because she wore glasses.  Somehow we decided the prettiest blondest girl was only smart enough to be entrusted with unlocking the door aka "Security"  (She went on to become an occupational therapist which proves life can be unfair when you're too cute).

My parents would let us sleep in the playhouse for slumber parties.  My dad built us giant bonfires (completely illegal in the suburbs), and we'd spend the night moving from fire, to trampoline, to playhouse.  Eventually, everyone would sleep but me.  I seemed to be the only kid aware that outside is where murderers and bears live.  I'd lie awake all night watching over my friends, while my dad would lie awake all night in the big house watching over me.

I've often thought that knowing God loves you is hard, but it's the tiniest bit easier if you had a dad that loved you with abandon.  It ought to model our heavenly father's love for us.
It does, but it's still so so very hard to believe how He feels about us.  I don't know why.

I don't have to figure it out today though.
I just have to remember that maybe...
just maybe...

if you "know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good gifts to those who ask him.
Matthew 7:11