I'm learning that home is a relative thing. It can stretch across the world. It can collapse into a dorm room. It can settle in among other peoples' belongings. It can be built from 8 suitcases. And it can be alive and hopeful and inviting right inside your imagination.
If you can imagine as vividly as I've learned to, you're invited to go on a tour of my new home with me. Ignore the rocky yard, the ladders, the piles of dirt and dried cement. This place in Beirut is special. In many ways. And I've been living in it in my imagination ever since last November.
I first saw "the little villa" on our pilot visit to Beirut. I was terribly sick with the flu, but Leif (our MEU president) wanted me to see the home they were preparing for the Dean of...whatever. I shuffled out of the dorm for Leif to drive us further up the hillside to a little tile-roof house that was being re-created from a small, abandoned bungalow. Standing inside the ancient gloomy cinderblock, I remember looking out a jagged window hole and surveying the ranks of apartment buildings that shared the view of Beirut. In my imagination I saw so much potential. "I like it," I told Leif I was sure of it. I cried and went back to bed.
Of course, he could've known right then that the decision was made. The Lichtenwalters had begun their Journey to Beyrouth.
But in the days and months since then, what is more touching to me even than the simplicity and character of what we've come to call "our little villa," is the assurance it gives me of why we're here.
* * *
It was a steaming Sabbath morning 27 years ago this month, maybe even this week. While much of those chaotic mothering years are lost in my memory, the details of that day are vivid. Larry had gotten a ride to first service at Village and I was dragging myself through a sticky breakfast with Ehren, 2, who was spreading Cheerios, bananas and milk around the high chair tray. Erich, 4, was sitting across the colonial-style dining room table gleefully agitating for whatever attention he could draw out from us. We had been pastoring Village for a year. We still were looking for permanent housing.
We were doing the best we could in a "borrowed" house while we searched and prayed for somewhere to live. I knew I should be thankful; the owners had gone on vacation for three weeks and had given us their key. But I didn't know that we'd be housesitting two more homes over the summer, dragging our suitcases and toys and stroller and highchair along with us. Everything else we owned was stacked into one room of the Bender's, who'd so graciously rented to us for a year while they traveled the States in a trailer.
That Sabbath morning I didn't know what was ahead for us. All I knew was that it had been a rough week behind us. Larry had spent hours poring over 17 grievances that had gathered during our first year at Village, presented to him by the head elder; how could we help but wonder if Berrien Springs might be a short-lived ministry. But through a few quick and unusual developments, Larry had also shaken hands with a contractor to finish a partially built home on Jones Road that we wanted to buy--with no willing bank, no loan in hand. Seeing how God had seemed to be working, we decided that he would announce in church that morning that we'd found a home and were putting down roots in Berrien. If that wasn't enough, he was also planning to announce publicly that our family was increasing. GASP. "They can hardly manage the two active boys they have..."
If it was unnerving to be so open with so much when I felt so unsettled, we'd already learned that personal information was a commodity with some in Berrien Springs. If we shared early and publicly, the market value of the gossip dropped drastically.
But I'm sure you won't blame me for saying--more in a silent cry than a prayer--"Lord, it's really hard to go to church today. This is not what I expected. All I asked for when we moved here was for You to give my little family a home." And there I sat stifling in someone else's house, reeling with morning sickness and the thought of a bigger family than I ever dreamed (see below**), and wondering if we had any good reason to dream of a gorgeous home on a prime piece of property in Berrien Springs.
Many times since then I've come to recognize a very personal, very real encounter with God that has given me immeasurable assurance and focus. But that morning was a first. My own thoughts stopped; my mind went silent. As clear as if I heard an audible voice, God expressed Himself in my thinking. In first person. He told me, "I have confirmed your calling."
That was all. No discussion. No explanation. God doesn't directly talk a great deal to any of us, but He knows just what to say, when to say it, so that it expresses more than can be put into words. Enough was packed into those words to assure us for 26 more years whenever we walked up that driveway after a quiet midnight walk, or came home after a long trip, or felt the storms of church life challenging our calling. One doesn't turn from His calling on a whim. One only listens for His next calling...
The thousand-piece puzzle that had been jumbled in my tired mind suddenly poured out of the box and assembled itself: The move to Berrien, the unfinished house on Jones, unknowns of ministry, the 17 grievances, the baby coming. A place for my family. God had all the pieces and He knew how they fit. I didn't see the full picture, but I saw Him putting it all together.
Yes, I'd waited a year. Yes, I was suspended in transitions of all kinds. Yes, I would eventually live in five "homes" before I'd be able to walk into 11166 Jones Road and call it mine. And, no, I had absolutely no more inkling of what was ahead than I did what I sat down to breakfast. But I knew God knew. And I knew it was all in His hands. What I saw was not a heap of broken puzzle pieces, but a picture of His care.
So. How could that possibly be related to "the little villa" in Beirut, Lebanon, 27 years later?
Unlike back then, before we even decided to come I saw in my imagination a place I could very easily call home. I heard the confirmation that would carry us through a decision, an enormous change, and a new faith-investment. But just like on that hot Sabbath morning, I don't have the details of my life. I don't know when I will have a home. Or how long I will call it home. Or what experiences it will hold. Or how I will grow.
But I KNOW, after shuffling through it last November, that God gave me the privilege of imagining myself "at home." And that is enough right now to move me along into His will!
He has confirmed our calling, and I'm at peace.
If you can imagine as vividly as I've learned to, you're invited to go on a tour of my new home with me. Ignore the rocky yard, the ladders, the piles of dirt and dried cement. This place in Beirut is special. In many ways. And I've been living in it in my imagination ever since last November.
I first saw "the little villa" on our pilot visit to Beirut. I was terribly sick with the flu, but Leif (our MEU president) wanted me to see the home they were preparing for the Dean of...whatever. I shuffled out of the dorm for Leif to drive us further up the hillside to a little tile-roof house that was being re-created from a small, abandoned bungalow. Standing inside the ancient gloomy cinderblock, I remember looking out a jagged window hole and surveying the ranks of apartment buildings that shared the view of Beirut. In my imagination I saw so much potential. "I like it," I told Leif I was sure of it. I cried and went back to bed.
Of course, he could've known right then that the decision was made. The Lichtenwalters had begun their Journey to Beyrouth.
But in the days and months since then, what is more touching to me even than the simplicity and character of what we've come to call "our little villa," is the assurance it gives me of why we're here.
* * *
It was a steaming Sabbath morning 27 years ago this month, maybe even this week. While much of those chaotic mothering years are lost in my memory, the details of that day are vivid. Larry had gotten a ride to first service at Village and I was dragging myself through a sticky breakfast with Ehren, 2, who was spreading Cheerios, bananas and milk around the high chair tray. Erich, 4, was sitting across the colonial-style dining room table gleefully agitating for whatever attention he could draw out from us. We had been pastoring Village for a year. We still were looking for permanent housing.
We were doing the best we could in a "borrowed" house while we searched and prayed for somewhere to live. I knew I should be thankful; the owners had gone on vacation for three weeks and had given us their key. But I didn't know that we'd be housesitting two more homes over the summer, dragging our suitcases and toys and stroller and highchair along with us. Everything else we owned was stacked into one room of the Bender's, who'd so graciously rented to us for a year while they traveled the States in a trailer.
That Sabbath morning I didn't know what was ahead for us. All I knew was that it had been a rough week behind us. Larry had spent hours poring over 17 grievances that had gathered during our first year at Village, presented to him by the head elder; how could we help but wonder if Berrien Springs might be a short-lived ministry. But through a few quick and unusual developments, Larry had also shaken hands with a contractor to finish a partially built home on Jones Road that we wanted to buy--with no willing bank, no loan in hand. Seeing how God had seemed to be working, we decided that he would announce in church that morning that we'd found a home and were putting down roots in Berrien. If that wasn't enough, he was also planning to announce publicly that our family was increasing. GASP. "They can hardly manage the two active boys they have..."
If it was unnerving to be so open with so much when I felt so unsettled, we'd already learned that personal information was a commodity with some in Berrien Springs. If we shared early and publicly, the market value of the gossip dropped drastically.
But I'm sure you won't blame me for saying--more in a silent cry than a prayer--"Lord, it's really hard to go to church today. This is not what I expected. All I asked for when we moved here was for You to give my little family a home." And there I sat stifling in someone else's house, reeling with morning sickness and the thought of a bigger family than I ever dreamed (see below**), and wondering if we had any good reason to dream of a gorgeous home on a prime piece of property in Berrien Springs.
Many times since then I've come to recognize a very personal, very real encounter with God that has given me immeasurable assurance and focus. But that morning was a first. My own thoughts stopped; my mind went silent. As clear as if I heard an audible voice, God expressed Himself in my thinking. In first person. He told me, "I have confirmed your calling."
That was all. No discussion. No explanation. God doesn't directly talk a great deal to any of us, but He knows just what to say, when to say it, so that it expresses more than can be put into words. Enough was packed into those words to assure us for 26 more years whenever we walked up that driveway after a quiet midnight walk, or came home after a long trip, or felt the storms of church life challenging our calling. One doesn't turn from His calling on a whim. One only listens for His next calling...
The thousand-piece puzzle that had been jumbled in my tired mind suddenly poured out of the box and assembled itself: The move to Berrien, the unfinished house on Jones, unknowns of ministry, the 17 grievances, the baby coming. A place for my family. God had all the pieces and He knew how they fit. I didn't see the full picture, but I saw Him putting it all together.
Yes, I'd waited a year. Yes, I was suspended in transitions of all kinds. Yes, I would eventually live in five "homes" before I'd be able to walk into 11166 Jones Road and call it mine. And, no, I had absolutely no more inkling of what was ahead than I did what I sat down to breakfast. But I knew God knew. And I knew it was all in His hands. What I saw was not a heap of broken puzzle pieces, but a picture of His care.
So. How could that possibly be related to "the little villa" in Beirut, Lebanon, 27 years later?
Unlike back then, before we even decided to come I saw in my imagination a place I could very easily call home. I heard the confirmation that would carry us through a decision, an enormous change, and a new faith-investment. But just like on that hot Sabbath morning, I don't have the details of my life. I don't know when I will have a home. Or how long I will call it home. Or what experiences it will hold. Or how I will grow.
But I KNOW, after shuffling through it last November, that God gave me the privilege of imagining myself "at home." And that is enough right now to move me along into His will!
He has confirmed our calling, and I'm at peace.
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| Unlike other staff homes lined up along the rise of Sabtieh Hill, the villa is backed up against the hillside. |
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| Standing in the private parking area you look towards the rise of Sabtieh Hill on the left and a neighboring ridge on the right. |
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| Welcome! This picture was taken before a beautiful, deep brown front door was hung over the front patio. |
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| Coming in the front door, you see the kitchen on the left, the sliding glass door leading to a tiled side patio and the dining area between--which is holding kitchen cabinets. |
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| Turning around to face the front of the house, you look out the living room windows that overlook a hillside of apartments and Beirut below. |
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| The kitchen from the dining room! On our request, another five feet of counter and cupboards have been hung on the opposite wall. The laundry room...and the back door are beyond. |
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| A miniature but well-placed laundry room gives access to the clothesline in the backyard. |
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| The back door looks into the stone wall which circles around behind the house and holds up the side of Sabtieh Hill! |
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| An unusual feature of the little villa: Three toilets for approximately 1,000 sq. feet. This half bath now features a very small sink that allows the door to close. |
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| The smallest bedroom--likely to be furnished with an ironing board and exercise mat. |
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| The main household bath features an opportunity to relieve oneself, brush teeth and wash feet in the shower simultaneously. |
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| The largest and brightest bedroom offers room for guests. Bring your own bed. |
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| A picture of the THIRD toilet. After losing two feet to the bathroom, the bedroom room still fits a queen-size bed and a path to the door. |
** It's a sign of how incomprehensible motherhood was to me and of God's clever patience that He would send me two more sons and many more children in my life before I realized the most important thing I could ever do in life is to be...a mother. A subject for another long, long blog.
