40

Today I told stories to the young women I am mentoring for our current missions training school. To one, I told the story of Wade washing me with his words of truth. And I also told our story of home, the journey of the last 2 years. TWO YEARS.

The story that two years, 3 months and 10 days ago we were evicted from the house where we had birthed 2 of our children, and made home for countless people.

The story that I knew that I knew that I knew that I knew that we were not supposed to rent another house.

The story that there was no plan B for homelessness, except trust.

And the story that we were not without a place to lay our heads for the 17 months we were without a home of our own.

The story of the deep blue heartache and pain of waiting in the fall in Canada, the golden winter in California, and mean reds of a return that felt like tearing things out again and again until we landed, exactly 40 houses later

I SAID FORTY, as in biblical times of waiting and preparation and lesson learning 40, houses later at the tiny house.

I always thought I knew that the journey was the thing. But I know now. How long? How long?
As long as it takes.