I confess I am addicted to homes.

I love any type:
mobile homes,
cottages,
starter homes,
executive homes,
mountain homes,
old farm homes{my favorite},
long abandoned weathered shacks,
apartments, condos
and
anything in between.

There is something about homes that has always fascinated me.

If given the chance to peek through any home, the thoughts of who built it,
who once lived here, who left home from there, who dreamed of returning to it…
what dreams were realized or even what heartache occurred in it.

Seriously, I can’t help it.

My addiction to homes has been for as long as I can remember.

When I was in high school I saw a picture of a breathtakingly beautiful
old, old farmhouse in a real estate guide.

It was in a town about 2 hours from where I lived.

I could not get that old farmhouse out of my head and soon cut the picture out
and tucked it neatly into my wallet, where I carried it for many years,
dreaming that one day I would go see it in person.  {I never did.}

Over the years I have begged Dw to stop outside Open Houses so I could run
inside and take a peek.   


{Any of you addicted to Open Houses as well?}

That sweet husband of mine has indulged my crazy addiction on so many, many occasions.

Today was no exception.  There was not one, but two


Open House 

signs near our corner as we returned from church this morning.

Lunch finished and clean up done, grabbing Savannah and Liberty
the three of us headed out the door.

The first home was lovely.

Truly lovely.  

We ooohhed and aaaahhed and pretended who would sleep where if it was our home.

The second home was actually an enormous one we have seen on the
side of a mountain near our neighborhood. Actually the kids
and I have wondered out loud about:

Who lives up there?  
Wonder what it really looks like inside? 
Imagine the view from up there! 

{Being the diligent mama that I am, I have successfully instilled in most of them a
fascination with homes just like their mama has, I can’t help myself.}

When I saw that the sign was leading to the very house we have talked
 about on several occasions,
I was almost giddy that it was Open.

Once inside, the realtor explained that it was an estate.  The wife had died of Multiple Sclerosis.  The husband a heart attack.  It was priced well under market value.  He then said to wander about and have fun checking it out.

Being an estate, the home was completely empty.
It had the feeling as though many memories were still very present.  

 
Two large formal portraits hung above the giant fireplace: no doubt, the husband and wife.

I rounded a corner and found a large laundry room.  I stood as though I was the lady of the house about to fold clothes….and there I saw them:

Bible verses pasted all over the wall.

The word of God on both little tiny papers and great big large papers
 taped up for anyone folding laundry to see.  I called to Savannah and Liberty to see.

Suddenly I felt such a strong connection to this precious woman who loved God’s Holy word and posted it all over her huge home.  There were Bible verses pasted in the kitchen as well.

And then it hit me:

Although the owner’s remaining children had cleared the house out,
the only thing that was left of her in that old home was this:

God’s Promises that she had loved, memorized, meditated on and held dear. 

It was powerful to my soul.

If I were suddenly gone, and strangers were walking through my home,
would they know that God’s word was the most important thing in my life?

Would they know that it was really the only thing that I would want others to
 take away from knowing me?

Only His promises.

Each of His promises:

Undeniably powerful.

Able to move mountains.

Able to steady the most shaken situations.

Able to bring surrender from the strongest foe.

Able to quicken the hardest heart.

Able to heal horrific disease.

Constant.

Reliable.

Awe-inspiring.

Unchanging.

Sure.

Steadfast.

Forever.

The grass withers, the flower fades,
But the word of our God stands forever.
Isaiah 40:8