Our House, In the Middle of Our Street…


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.


2 thoughts on “Our House, In the Middle of Our Street…

  1. kate o. says:

    this post struck a nerve in me. you know, one of those uncomfortable but quite convicting nerves?
    i was a bit confused when we moved a mere 60 miles north of miami. i thought evidently God didn’t get the memo that outside of miami – florida was not on my list of “places i’ll be content living.” so for the first few weeks i contemplated pushing back and deciding just not to like it here. (right…cause that would be our ticket out of here…) but then passages like phil. 4 kept coming to mind as well as an article in by-faith last year (i think it was something about “u-haul theology”) that pointed me to seek contentment, even if i am not truly enamored with my new town/home.
    but i guess i can be thankful that our rental does not have peach walls or country blue borders 😉
    ramble, ramble. thanks for the thoughts!


  2. Megan says:

    My problem is that I get pretty excited about the potential of ANYTHING. I think anything will be great until I live in the reality of it for a while and get really bummed out by it.
    When that happens, I’m ready to move on to the perfection the next potential holds for me.
    Learning to live with reality is hard for me. 🙂


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