This is a picture of our basement. It looks much worse in person. We've had about 13 inches of rain in the last month, most of them falling in the last week. Apparently it was just too much for our 106 year old house's foundation, and it came tumbling down about 3 am Easter morning. It woke me up and sent me sprinting into the family room, where Jeremy already was because he couldn't sleep. When he saw what had happened, he packed all of us up, and we spent the rest of the night/morning at my mom and dad's, where we've been since.
Some of you may remember that we (Jeremy) have been working on this house for almost 2 years now, and were only able to move in about 5 or 6 weeks ago. It seemed like such an accomplishment, to finally be living in the same house-- Jeremy had to spend all of his time there working on it-- to be actually living in the house for which we had made so many plans.
I don't know when we'll be able to move back in. The foundation on the front wall (right under the front door, living room, and bedroom) is toast, obviously. And the price tag to fix it... It's a lot. Especially considering that it isn't covered under our insurance (is anything, ever?!).
So this is hard. It has been hard, and it continues to be hard. And I'm asking God for a story. That in five years, ten years, forty years, this will be a story that we tell our kids. That we tell our church. That we tell our friends. That we tell ourselves, when things get harder than we can manage. That the story would tell of His love for us, His faithfulness to us. Of His power.
I hope that we're also able to tell of our faithfulness to Him. That we believed Him when He said He would take care of us when things got hard. That He really can move mountains and that He did, for us. That all we really needed was Him.