I’ve always liked to think of myself as an adventure seeker. In some ways what I think of myself is true. I love to travel; I love running into the unknown facing each day, especially if I’m overseas, with a zest for life.
But there is another side of me.
It’s the side of me that needs a home, a place I’ll always know I’m loved and accepted. By having a home, a haven, I’m given the freedom to find the adventure I long for.
I’ve always had that refuge. Until November 29, 2010.
My home was taken away. Not by a person, not by a mistake, not even by failure. It was taken away by life. Life refined me, a girl who was getting settled after my last move, finally seeing the new place as her refuge and home, with fire. The house of wonderful family who took me in burned down.
And e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g. the family owned was lost. Suddenly, I didn’t have a home anymore. Yes, I lived in the guesthouse, and only lost a few things—But my home was gone.
And this is where the story really begins.
It’s a story that I hope to write in entirety someday, but right now all I can seem to say is: My God is so good. His love is deeper than the depths of the sea; He has given back ten-fold more than was taken away. His heart is so for me and my second family that He has brought together His Kingdom just to overwhelm us.
I know it’s only been three weeks, but it feels like three years.
I'm sorry to leave you, my blog friends, hanging. By not posting and by not being able to finish this story. I long to, really I do. But for now, thank you for your prayers. We still need them. [and for me I'll never stop needing them :)]
Jesus is holding us close to His heart. And we are healing from life's circumstances. We will never be the same again.
Much Love,
Alana
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