Coming Home

June 22, 2014

I’m warming myself in the stain-glass and wood-panel glow of my childhood church. Wherever we wander, coming home inevitably means coming here.

Today I’m lurking in the back row of the sanctuary during the Sunday school hour, soaking up the light. I hoard these precious seconds of alone time amid the whirling chaos of my three small humans.


We made covenent promises here … On the glossy wooden stage, I slipped my hands into his, threading my heart to the Husband in neat, tidy stitches meant to last a lifetime. They’ve been picked at, worried over, and stretched across the globe, but the line holds.

Six years ago the J Girl wore silk when we claimed her as a covenant child, then left her there, in that church, in that town.Assist in the nurture and admonition of a child” are sweet words to a still wounded mama who trusted the Body bear my sister up.

This morning, there are four men rehearsing on stage, singing Come Thou Fount. One of the four is my brother-in-law. His voice is a permanent thread in our memories, a soundtrack to the moments that tie us together. Today though, there are four voices pitch perfect, rising in harmony together and it sets my soul a-humming.

Tuning each piece of my weary heart to sing His grace. I’m still tired. I’m still afraid, most days. I struggle mightily over the raising up of my wee babes. I want my Husband home. But. But. 

I’ve said it once, more than a lot of onces … here I raise my Ebenezer. I’m still counting.

And truly this morning I am grateful for coming home, for a gift box of memories, and a four-part harmony.

More about Molly Huggins

I am an unrepentant extrovert with an ongoing, passionate affair with coffee, ellipses, and the written word. I write because it’s how I’m made to worship. I am a story teller, because redemption has a story to tell. And always, I want to be a story collector. So have a virtual seat at my beat-up kitchen table. Read my story. Tell me yours. Stay awhile. And P.S. ... for more about me, click on my mug in the sidebar;)

    1. sweet, sweet connection. We also sang that hymn yesterday…and traveling to see my pregnant daughter, who is struggling with scary pregnant complications, I sang this song and it played in my head for the entire three hour drive.
      Then today, I read this………
      How tender, how strong, is the heart of our God.
      continue to pray for you, Molly

    1. Lovely reflection. I know being home is a respite from the day to day struggles of your beautiful babes and a husband at war (if even it isn’t officially called that anymore). I know what it feels like for me to go home and can imagine your appreciation for a little stillness in a familiar place with so many memories that much more greater than my own. Maybe sometime, our visits home will overlap. That would be wonderful! Thanks for sharing your heart. The raw and tender places are a powerful demonstration of God’s grace and faithfulness through feast and famine.

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