Address

 "The problem of expecting to live in a perfectly fair world is that there is no grace in that world, for grace is grace only when it is undeserved."

570 Overlook Drive, Stone Mtn GA.

I lived in 9 homes before moving into our current starter/forever home.

The only address I remember belongs to this picture.

In the spring of my 7th grade year we moved out of the only home I'd ever known in the middle of the night. I'll spare you the long story but you don't take 3 kids and leave somewhere in the middle of the night unless it's necessary.

We spent the next six months or so sleeping on air mattresses on the floor of my Uncle's weight room.

My mother had not worked outside the home since my birth and had no credit, no income, no money.

She started cleaning houses and got her dad to co-sign for her on this trailer. We moved in just before I started the 8th grade.

My mother was so excited because she'd been able to get us back into our school district.

The thing is, she also got us back onto the same bus route we rode before when we lived in our old house.

In a manner of months, I quit getting on the bus in the regular old middle class neighborhood I had the previous 7 years and started getting on the bus on the top of the hill at our new address.

I somehow became "trailer park trash" because my address changed.

I had not changed.

I remember this address, 570 Overlook Drive, because it was the first, and the last time, I let my street address define me.

46 year old me knows my mother made impossible choices. She worked hard to keep us fed, clothed and sheltered. That address to her meant her safety, our safety. It meant a new beginning. It meant showing us that setting boundaries can be done.

14 year old me wasn't this wise.

The sound of those kids taunting me as I got on the bus, I will forever hear.

But that will never hit me as hard as the thoughts that went through my own mind. The shame I feel for having those thoughts in the first place.

I've been thinking about those years at that bus stop over the last few weeks.

One of our own children has begun to comment about how other people have nicer homes, nicer things, and a grander lifestyle.

They don't bring people to our home.

They say parenting comes full circle and I definitely hear my own adolescent awful thoughts circling my head while my heart feels hurt that I've raised a child who defines themself by their address.

I've had a hard time gifting this child space to work through this and have tried to make my mantra "How you feel about our home says nothing about me, and everything about YOU."

Our home is GRAND by many standards. It's (almost) fully ours. We've managed to pay for this home on one full time income despite returning to college, raising 3 children, navigating health challenges and much more.

The furniture is a hodge podge of mismatched hand me downs or thrifting finds that have come our way. We've learned the beauty of God's provision is you are willing to wait for it. Lean into it. Trust it will come.

There is no renovating or updating because in a house that is over 20 years old, something necessary is always breaking. We are blessed that we can fix that which breaks. That an emergency fund exists for ..you know...emergencies.

We have enough space that we can welcome family members and random teenagers as people need a soft space to fall. My dining room table is long enough to always pull up another chair.

I feel the same defensive thing my own mother must have felt.

We've provided a home when what the world often describes is merely a house structure.

I was thinking this morning as I laced those shoes up and walked my prayer walk up and down my street how often we judge others by something as superficial as their address.

Insteading of embracing that their current address has a story to tell that is worthy of hearing, we make harsh judgements on what our eyes can see.

The summer I turned 19 I had the first of several surgeries that would require me to take some time off of college.

I got two jobs while taking a few classes and rented a room.

That room?

Yep. Right back in that trailer park , just a different address.

You see - I don't remember that address anymore.

Being on my own was important to me. Paying my own way. Figuring out the BIG things.

My address no longer mattered to me, and I didn't care what other people thought.

I had many friends over the year I lived there for popcorn and movies, pizza and games. I was never before, and never again, so proud of a house key.

The people who really loved me didn't choose to spend time with me because of my address.

Perspective is a gift.

Mama Warriors, let's be careful how we respond to those based on what we can see.

Give grace.

Always gift people the generosity that you believe there is a story behind the address. A beautiful, God written story.

Sure, you, and I , may be wrong every now and then.

But I'd rather go through life thinking the very best of everyone I encounter rather than the worst.

Because you see, a young teen being called trailer park trash day in and day out, it's something that sticks with them. And they didn't come up with that on their own - some adult modeled that behavior. In that adult's actions, they learned my address meant I was "less than" them.

Maybe you need to work on your verbiage when you talk about diverse people. Maybe you need to work on your verbiage when you talk about politics. Maybe you need to work on your word choice when you talk about current events.

Little ears are picking up on your tone and your connotations.

Our address doesn't make us better or worse people. Just like our political party affiliation, our stance on masks, our take on current events, etc.

Telling your kids people wearing masks are stupid is no different than that kid telling me I was trash.

I could list hundreds of those types of examples,

If we want our kids to define themselves by their character, then we have to model defining others by ONLY their character.

Not their address.

Not their stance on this or that.

Not their skin color.

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