I spent the day at my mom’s house trying to clean it out. Once again, I feel so depressed because being in that house just makes me feel like life is reduced to heaps of junk. There’s not much to show for my parents’ lives except for lots and lots of junk, my brother, and me. When I walk into the house and am faced with that idea, I feel like demons from hell are reaching up from the ground and trying to pull me down.
I don’t want my life to be just about things. The stuff that is in my house isn’t what gives my life meaning. It’s the love that I share with God and the people in my life that matters. Today when I came home with my husband and we drove up into the garage, I was so tired and hot, I didn’t want to unload the car, I just wanted to go inside to cool off and rest for a while first. Before I had a chance to ask my husband if we could just go inside first for a little while, he asked me. It was just a simple thing, but after so many years of marriage, knowing each other so well that we can almost read each other’s minds feels good. I don’t need a house to go home to, home is anywhere he is. I know my life has meaning because I have shared this amazing love with my husband and because that love glorifies God. When I’m long gone, I know that my life won’t be about the junk I left behind, at least it won’t be for me, I want my life to be about the love in my heart, the light of God within that heart, and how that light never dies.
My faith saved me. May God’s peace reside in all of our hearts.
