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Home by Colleen Fraioli
We all have weaknesses. Mine is real estate–not so much the idea of commercial properties, contracts, or lease options, but houses. While other women may secretly indulge in Chocolate Decadence Torte, I can be found perusing the classifieds. It’s not that I am homeless, or that I will immanently need a place to live, I’m simply convinced that a replica of my Italian Villa lies hidden somewhere in Stanislaus County, and I will be there when it surfaces on the MLS.
This dream fuels my searching, regardless of the lack of inventory including stone cottages located on vineyards in the area. I imagine myself on the veranda sipping my morning coffee as the rising sun casts it’s golden glow across the hand carved wood beams and chiseled stone walls. The sun’s rays migrate across the vista of orchards and vineyards leading to the river valley below (of course the sun would need to rise a little later than usual since I rarely get up that early). I can nonetheless rationalize that my pursuit of the perfect home is not only attainable, but even an admirable cause. Think of all the missionaries who could find solace there. And since my husband is Italian, it is only logical to conclude that it must be part of God’s master plan for my life.
Of course I’d need to compromise in a few areas such as architecture and landscape, but I can come close. I recently toured a newer home near the river. If I relocate my Home Depot pond and light my Costco fire pit, it could resemble Tuscany.
Besides, home is the epitome of wholesomeness. It is used to describe ideas associated with good feelings, like homemade, homespun, homestead, home-grown, home-fires, home-fries... the list goes on. When I think of home, I feel warm and cozy. Home is where I find solace. It’s my refuge.
Hence, my dream home could be considered a noble aspiration. The problem is, I have been staying up past my bedtime watching House Hunters, and my daughters are tired of stopping at “just one more open house”. Lately God has suggested that my endeavor might be a little obsessive. He is invariably right about these things.
So the other night I gave it over. I told God He could have my dream home - like I owned it anyway. Then, in a tender moment, I sensed Him whisper that He wanted to be that for me, right here in my little house. He asked me to stop searching for other places and let Him be my Villa - my Cottage - my Estate. He is where I am most comfortable and at rest. All that is good and right and true is in Him. He is my destination, not real estate. He is Home.
Today I sipped coffee in my living room on our twice recovered 30 year old chair. The sun glistened off the curtains I found on clearance and I listened to the sound of water squirting out of the simulated pond that I never could get to flow just right. God and I chatted as usual, and I sensed His smile It’s good to be Home.
The eternal God is a dwelling place, and underneath are the everlasting arms...
Deuteronomy 33:27
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