A Five-Year Manifesto
I've been taking a little journey lately, for no particular reason. I have a collection of journals I've kept through the years, somewhat sporadically, to chronicle and process our life in different stages. I've often written most consistently in hard seasons, so when I've finished writing I tend to close the books and put them away, with little interest in revisiting them. But other journals represent some of the best seasons in my life: the summer Micah and I fell in love, our first year of marriage, each of our pregnancies... For the past several weeks, I've been dropping back in on my life in these different seasons and revisiting both the good and the bad. I could write volumes about the little things I've gleaned or the fun connections I've made. But one, in particular, has stood out to me.
One of our most difficult seasons was the year we spent transitioning from Illinois back to Indiana. Our Illinois house sat on the market for over a year. We lived with my parents (how gracious are they?) for ten months. I went from staying home full-time to working full-time on night shift-- a schedule to which I was never able to fully adjust-- and Micah was home full-time with the kids. He worked here and there as a substitute teacher. Our kids, especially Henry, struggled so much with the changes. He cried all the way to school, first grade, and often clung to the car as we pulled away in car line. Once he was so distraught, the school police officer came and helped pull him away from the car. There were countless setbacks: unfruitful house showings, offers that fell through, homes we loved that sold before we could buy, financial challenges, job opportunities that didn't materialize, and so many more. Every time we thought we knew where God was headed, the direction changed abruptly. It was a long, hard season.
In the midst of it all, Micah and I had almost no time together--probably the hardest part of all. So to stay connected, we kept a journal. He wrote to me during the day while I slept, and I wrote him back (when I could) on my breaks on night shift. The journals, out of necessity, replaced our conversations, and they were the place where we worked out all of the ups and downs of life in that season.
On one particular night, soon after we'd finally gotten an offer on our house and were beginning to consider a new home, he asked me where I saw us in 5-10 years, and how that would shape the home we bought. I wrote my response to him seven years ago, and hadn't thought about it much since then. But as I re-read the words, I was struck by them. They almost read like a manifesto or mission statement for our family. We haven't lived it perfectly (and, to be honest, the pandemic and my health have impacted our ability to live out some of it!), but it still reflects our hearts even now. I hope this is how we live in this season, seven years later, as well as in all the years to come. Here is what I wrote:
"I hope five years finds us in our own home, free to give, with a table-full of rowdy faces that, for one or two hours after school, find a place that's safe and secure and loving. I hope it finds us living on less (Aldi's going to know us by name!) and positioning our whole lives to be ready to be used, any time. I hope it finds us often paying for groceries for the person behind us, bringing hot chocolate to a repairman in the winter, leaving groceries on a neighbor's doorstep--not so anyone else can see, but for the sheer pleasure and joy that WE get out of conspiring and doing those things together! I hope a single mom finds her mortgage payment made for the month, someone's medical bill paid off, or new furniture delivered to a home after a house fire.
I hope five years from now finds our kids quick to notice the kid in the corner who's being left out, quick to see a need and look for a way to meet it, quick to want to give rather than accumulating for themselves. I hope as a family, we thrive on secret projects to bless others, going out of our way to find needs and creatively meet them. I hope our kids are quick to defend family--letting anyone into the love we have at home, but quick to close ranks to protect each other. I hope the years are filled to overflowing with memories of playing together, sitting around our table sharing thoughts from the day, enjoying nature.
I hope five years from now finds us more in love than ever, maybe in part because of five more years of shared memories. I hope our eyes dance when we look at each other and we can't wait to spend another moment together.
I've been asking God what HIS "floor plan" and design for our house should be. I haven't gotten too far with an answer, but looking over this list, maybe I have. Maybe this--possibly more than [a list of features and specifications]--should be the list we're making. What do we hope our family, home, finances, marriage, and ministry look like in five years? If those are the goals, I think the house will naturally follow suit as we look to buy."
And seven years on, I still hope this is us--a little more each day.
