Seeking Stability, Seeking Home

Faced with the news that she'll need to leave her longtime home, Amanda Lawrence takes it to prayer.

Have you ever lived under the gun? One that could go off any minute. BANG. That’s how I grew up. It’s how I spent my twenties, thirties, and presumably how I’ll spend my forties. It’s not nearly as fun as it sounds.  

All my life, I’ve wanted stability. I’m starving for it, wandering from place to place, searching beneath pillows and blankets, flipping couch cushions to no avail. Where is my home? Can someone draw me a map? 

My apartment isn’t home; I don’t own it. Living in my car is an option, but I’d rather not.  

I feel numb, no longer dumb enough to ignore the hard truth: I’m in exile. I’ve been called to exist here. It’s not where I’m supposed to be. Other people’s rebellion ruined everything before I was born. I’m far from home because of them.  

Like a restless child at a slumber party, I want to leave. I prostrate on the floor and plead, “Please, Daddy, let me come home.” He won’t even dignify the request with a reply. I’m clothed, fed, sheltered, and in my right mind, I should be grateful. I’m terrified. 

Bringing my fears to prayer

Homelessness is the only thing I’ve ever known on God’s green earth. So when my aging landlord informed me he might sell the house soon, that fear of homelessness reappeared like a toxic friend.  

During a recent confession, my priest suggested renewing my consecration to Mary. I would try anything at this point. Once again, God selected my feast day: July 16th, Our Lady of Mount Carmel. I prayed in bed, gazing at the ceiling, wondering how much longer I’d have a bed or a ceiling above me. My eyes scanned the room. What will become of this stuff?  

Where will I put my typewriter, writing desk, or books? What about my dog and son? I feel everything being pried out of my hand like a candy bar before dinner. I know I must let go. But where does one go? A shelter?  

I often remind myself I’m homeless here by design. I don’t have to like it, only endure it. It’s a test. How much do I love God? He intends to find out. That’s partly my fault. I’m a battering ram on His door. When He opens, I know it’s time to face the music.  

God said, “What did you think would happen to someone that relentless with the Litany of Trust and Divine Mercy Chaplet? It sounded like you were trying to find out.” 

I’m speechless.  

He smiles. “Were you not begging mere moments ago, princess? You even went to Mom.” 

I look away. He’s got me there. I couldn’t stop praying, even in the middle of the night. Relentless is the word. Like a tired toddler, I can’t stop charging into God. What did I think would happen? Why shouldn’t He deliver? It’s just a matter of how. Whenever my landlord texts or stops by, I panic. Is this the day he tells me it’s over? 

“What are you going to do?” 

Pray. And push everything away except God. 

Praying that God will change me

Whatever way He changes me is evolutionary. Like a caterpillar in a cocoon, I crave it. I’ll be astounded when it happens. Lord, have mercy! I trust You. There isn’t a man like You. Wow, Papa. You’re a rare breed. There’s no comparing. 

“Think about the shelter,” whispers a voice.  

I do. We’ll almost certainly be separated. I see it now: my family scattered like ashes in the wind. There’s nothing I can do to prevent actual human homelessness. I lack sufficient money and time. Only a miracle will make this go another way. All I can do is wait and pray, not today, Satan. 

Besides, I’ve passed this test before. I trust God loves how hard I work for Him. He won’t prohibit me. It’s a relationship I can depend on, but I struggle to retain the lesson. I’m Old Testament in that way. It’s not my favorite trait; my bond with God is. I’m dedicated to this team for as long as He allows me to earn the grace of a happy death. 

Then, conviction hits. Maybe I’m wandering like an Israelite because I’ve idolized everything as an alternative to homelessness. God won’t permit me to pursue life-changing decisions based on the fearful, selfish motives of my greedy, irrational heart. Except, my brain’s afraid any decision I make in the face of destitution will be fear-based. That’s why I’m not ready. I’m still afraid. 

God says, “When you trust Me, you’ll see things differently.” 

Jesus, help me trust You. Mom, what should I do? 

The answer arrives like a whisper in my ear. “Fight him. Resist the devil.” 

Oh, right. Forgive me. I’m not scared of you, devil. I’ll resist you every day. Jesus is the conqueror here. My man’s a warrior. Let God arise and let His enemies scatter. Get away from my home, children, and me. Now, flee. 

The Lord is my shepherd; there is nothing I lack. (Psalm 23:1)

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Copyright 2024 Amanda Lawrence
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