Our House, In the Middle of Our Street…

911

We have now lived in our house for 16 months. I don’t know if you have followed our housing track record or not, but 16 months in Dunham-ese means it’s time to move.

And I’m feeling the itch.

Craig looked at me at dinner last night with laser eyes and made me repeat after him: “We are not moving. We are NOT moving. WE ARE NOT MOVING.”

Okay. We’re not moving. But something in me really wants to. I don’t know why that is. Is it just because that’s what I’ve grown accustomed to over the past 13 years? Is it my almost-insatiable desire for change? Is it just a discontent I’ve allowed to fester inside me for just about forever? I don’t know.

I do know this: We’re going to paint the dining room over Christmas and I’m almost giddy with the thought of it. While this house shows all signs of us living here as our stuff is everywhere (and I do mean EVERYWHERE), the decor of the inside still doesn’t really match who I think we are.

I realize that every time I announce that our dining room is a screaming throw-back to 1986, I’m blaring my discontent for the peach walls with country blue border and teal granny curtains to the whole world. When I was making videos for Chevy over the past few weeks, you have no idea how hard it was for me not to mention that I didn’t choose the decor whenever I happened to catch my dining room on film.

Because really, who cares? Only me. And I know that my over-caring is a sign of discontent.

Tonight, when the three fire trucks and two police cars surrounded the apartment complex across the street, my first thought wasn’t, “Wow, I should probably pray for the people inside.” My first thought was, “Yep. It’s time to move.”

That’s how sinful I am inside.

Smack dab in the middle of Philippians 4 I find this:

…I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I
know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I
have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation…”

Oh, how I wish I could honestly say that. I really don’t know what it means to be content in any and every situation. I don’t know contentment with peach walls. I don’t know contentment with probable drug busts across my street. I don’t know contentment with an unfinished attic and basement. I don’t know contentment.

As I think it could very well be that God will have us stay in this house for the rest of our days, I need to learn that secret of contentment. I agreed we are NOT moving, and I need to be okay with that.

And I need to learn soon.

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