I take my house for granted,
These walls that I call Home.
Too often I complain of it;
Its labor I bemoan.
I fuss about the cabinet space,
The small size of our rooms;
The doors that stick and floors that creak.
One day we will improve.
I dream of bigger, better things
Instead of what I need.
I forget this place shelters me
From wind and rain and sleet.
It feels so strong, so sure and firm,
Like it could never leave.
Yet as I watch my neighbors’ plight
I hang my head and weep.
My sink, my bed, my comfy chair,
My favorite place to rest;
This house, my home, is only mine
A moment; I am blessed.
So as I lay me down to sleep
I’ll pray for those without;
And I will thank the Lord above
For grace I call A House.
This poem occurred to me as I slumped into bed tonight, heartbroken for the families and residents of Van, Texas. This rural community near my home was devastated by a tornado last night. Many were injured, some are still missing and there have been fatalities. Please pray for my small corner of the world.
God is still in control and in love with His people. May we cling to Him rather than question His providence. His mercies will still be new in the morning, even as the sun rises over a barren slab of concrete.
“God’s loyal love couldn’t have run out,
his merciful love couldn’t have dried up.
They’re created new every morning.
How great your faithfulness!
I’m sticking with God (I say it over and over).
He’s all I’ve got left.” ~Lamentations 3:22-24