I blew right past this chapter and got all caught up in Bathsheba’s lineage because verse 37 says Absalom fled to his grandfather’s house, and his grandfather was the king of Geshur. Now, I couldn’t remember David’s dad’s name, which is Jesse, and I felt dumb after reading it because I’ve heard it a thousand times – David, son of Jesse. Anyway, so I thought, Bathsheba’s dad must haven been the king of Geshur. So I went back to chapter 11, and it says Bathsheba’s dad was Eliam. That’s it. So, I was scratching my head and thinking this was all I was going to write about this chapter. So, I grabbed my little portable keyboard and grabbed my phone to open my notes app, and darned that Facebook was right in my face with a memory of me and my kids all packed up and ready to head to Arizona for two weeks before heading to Thailand for the first time. I’m ashamed of the luggage, but I do love the photo. And dumb me, just eating up that memory, unconsciously scrolled to my next memory, which was something I did not remember posting or writing at all. And I’ll tell y’all, you could wring me out to dry right now. It was like I was reading something that I connected with and could visualize and even smellll perfectly … but I promise you I don’t remember writing a word of it. I mean, I sort of do now that I’ve read it, but I really don’t remember when or where I was or if I typed it on a phone or on a keyboard or what the hey, but it hit home. And that pun is innnn-tennnnd-ed, believe you me. I’m struggling, guys. I’ve been stuck between here and no where for more than six weeks now. I went on a month-long holiday almost two months ago, and I’m not going to get into what’s happened since that time, but I will tell you, it’s been a journey. I mean that in a physical, emotional and Spiritual way. It’s been just lately, though, that the Holy Spirit really started getting in those tough places He needed to get into and shining a light on those dark places He needed to light up. Then this popped up today, and it spoke – SHOUTED – until my cheeks were wet, and my stubborn, hard-hearted butt finally asked humbly for a softer heart and thanked My Heavenly Father for showing me ALL the good things He has done for me in the last nine years – and has been doing for me (all of us) since way before Bathsheba was even born.
Writing prompt: sharing
I rarely share my writing, mostly because this is the first draft of this Bible study, so my writing is what you’re reading, and what I hope to do when it’s finished is complete all the writing prompts during my next read-through. But today, I’m happy I can share something I’ve written, and I hope by the time I share this post, I’m going to get to read it from the home that is my home nine years after it was written. Did you get all that? Doesn’t matter. Here it is. (The title, I know … whyyyyy? But I’m leaving it for now.)
(Today’s post above written Dec. 17, 2021)
The Hardest Part of Leaving is Not Having Something to Come Back To
We are packed, but I have been pecking around for nearly two hours, putting little things in our “to keep” boxes, memorizing door frames, looking twice and three times (and more) at details of this house – the old paneling I’ve always hated but now love, the ugly carpet we begged mom and dad to replace years ago but will miss, the spikey ceiling texture that is outdated by decades. Is it possible to be in love with a house?
I will sleep inside these walls tonight for the last time, drink my last cup of coffee in the recliner, take my last shower in the tub, look in the mirror and open the three-way vanity cabinet … one last time. Mom plans to sell the house this spring, so even if we do come back to Oklahoma in a year, we will have nothing to come back to.
Time and time again these walls have protected me, kept me secure, welcomed me back and even scared me to death as they creaked and echoed when I was younger. Memories wash over me – turning cartwheels in the living room right next to the China cabinets. I can hear dad yelling from the front room, “Quit that jumping around in there! You’re shaking the whole house!”
The console TV is long gone, but I can still feel the hardwood floor underneath the thin, golden-tan and orange, funky-patterned carpet as I stood on my head or twisted my body in some pretzel-like shape to watch Sesame Street, Laverne & Shirley, Happy Days, Fantasy Island … while mom was working in the beauty shop or at Tuesday night bowling league. I can still smell the aroma of goulash or boiled cabbage or fried hamburgers that wafted through the house when dad was left in charge.
Mom, Danna and I spent hours upon hours creating a lighted macrame planter that hung in the living room long into my adult years, … sewing, crocheting, stringing popcorn for the Christmas tree, making candles, cookies, pies in the Holly Hobbie oven, one of which I tried to give to Daniel Wilson in the first grade, but when he didn’t take it, Kory Hungerford gobbled it up. Oh, there were also pets, my green playhouse dad had built for me, the cherry, apricot and apple trees in the back yard. Each year on my birthday, my friends and I would have cherry fights, staining our clothes with the juices, throwing a few but mostly eating one after another. Sometimes they were sour, but indeed they were the cherry on top of birthday parties with friends. And a few days later, our whole family would pick what was left, carrying bowls and shirts full of cherries to the kitchen to pit them and can them and make cobblers and pies. We did the same thing when the apples and apricots were ripe for the picking.
Our green rotary dial phone with the long, curly cord hung in the kitchen; the honeysuckle bush sweetened the air by the sandbox – the one the cat claimed as her litter box. Nope, that sandbox wasn’t so fun to play in, but I loved to stand by it anyway and eat the nectar out of those honeysuckles until I felt guilty enough to go do something else. In the spring and fall mom would make me hang clothes on the line, and it was so windy, and the lines felt so tall, that I hated hanging clothes out even more than working in our huge garden every summer and gathering eggs after school every day from the chicken coop. Sometimes I think I might give anything to have them back and to stay here and bathe in these memories. I was kind of hoping God would arrange that for me, but He didn’t. Thailand, here we come.
As much as I have moved my children around, I wonder if they will ever know what it’s like to belong somewhere, to have a home. But I also think maybe It’s best they don’t because it hurts so badly to leave.