My Empty House

About two or three times a week, I come home from work to an empty house. Well, there's a fish, a cat, a dog, and a TV, but other than that, it's devoid of other humans. My son is at his mother's house. My daughter is with her mother, who, for the foreseeable future, is ex-wife number two (we are beginning marriage counseling this week in hopes of restoring our marriage).

I gotta tell you, an empty house, especially one that is accustomed to laughing children, a woman who holds the key to my heart, i.e., my family, is a lonely place to be. It's a place in which I can quickly become solemn. I find myself turning on the lights in the kids' rooms, or my own bedroom, and staring at the walls, hoping to hear the echoes of their recent occupants. I get depressed.

Do you know where the first stop is once you board the train of depression? Pity. I miss my wife. Pity. I wish I had her back. More pity. If nothing else, I wish my kids were here. Even more pity. Pretty soon, I'm wearing my pity like a blanket, moving from room to room, memory to memory, like someone surveying what's left of his house after it has been gutted by a fire.

Empty houses suck. Depression sucks. Pity sucks. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't go down that road at least once a week. As much happiness as I find in Christ, as much comfort as I find in God's grace, I still wrestle with my empty house and all that it brings. It is the reminder that my choices have brought about consequences, many of which I cannot change.

Since my arrest and conviction seven years ago, I have learned many things, and gained many skills that would allow a man guilty of sins such as mine to survive in a world that frankly sucks to be in sometimes. One of those gifts is that of patience. I have learned that most things God has planned for us will never occur on our time table, within our expectations. When an idea, a need, or a desire is placed on my heart, if God is in the mix I know that it is wise to sit back and wait on him to reveal it to me. Anything worth having or happening is worth waiting on.

Another skill I have begun to master is the ability to sort through the crap, the stressors, the burdens, the blessings, the trials, the gifts...all the things that ARE life, and separate them into two piles. On one side I have a very large pile of things that, despite all my efforts, I cannot change, or at least cannot change quickly. This pile includes my felony, my divorces, my debt, my position in life, people's perceptions of me, and on and on. These things are all direct results of my poor choices (which is why I can't waste time begrudging them--I invited them!).

In the other pile, which is much, much smaller, are the things I can change or affect. These things include my children, my ministry, my job, my following and submission to Christ, and the effect I have on the world around me. This is a much more manageable list, and it makes life so much simpler when I focus on this pile and leave the other one to God.

So, rather than puttering around my empty house, I am thankful I have it. Rather than fretting over my recent divorce and missing my wife, I embrace the relationship I have with her now, and pour my heart into our daughter. Rather than standing at my kids' doors and listening for laughter that isn't there, I try to be a better father everyday. And rather than listening to what the world has to say about me, I strive to go to bed each night a better man than I was when I woke up.

Thank you, God, for my small pile. You can have the other one :)