Have you ever longed to go back to your childhood home—one that your family left many, many years ago? Did you dare drive around in the neighborhood or maybe even knock on the door in hopes of connecting with the new residents and maybe getting a chance to go inside? Or maybe your childhood memories were too painful to even think of doing such a thing.
This kind of chance of a lifetime recently presented itself to me—and like so many of these life coincidences; I took it as a sign from God to follow where He was leading me.
In the Neighborhood
It was on my 54th birthday—also the day that my driver’s license was expiring. So a trip to the Department of Licensing became a high priority on this day—not something I really had time for or wanted to do. I made the best of it though, even deciding to wear a special outfit so my ‘mug’ shot might have a chance of being pleasantly memorable.
When I pulled into the parking lot, I took more than a mental note of where I was. My childhood home was around the corner. A few weeks earlier, I had pulled out my memoir, still unworked on since last year’s NaNoWriMo. I began the painful process of re-reading it, but stopped after the first chapter, the chapter about my mother’s nervous breakdown and living in this neighborhood. After that reading, I felt God nudge me to contact the one last neighbor who I knew still lived in the neighborhood. But I didn’t act on it.
Or can you?
Although this wasn’t the home or neighborhood I was born in, I knew God was giving me another nudge, on my birthday, to pursue this last link to my childhood. I’d been to this neighborhood before several times as an adult. It was one of the first places I visited when my husband and I moved to the state of Washington about 25 years ago. At that time I went so far as to meet the residents, the people who bought the home from my parents in 1966.
This day’s visit was to the neighbor’s house though. The name on the mailbox was still the surname of a childhood friend. Maybe, just maybe, I would get some more insight into the day my mother had her nervous breakdown and our life on that street.
I knocked on the door. There was no answer. I was torn. Should I leave a note under the door? I just couldn’t believe that God brought me to this doorstep without as much as an answer.
My Childhood Home
So I took the bold step of going next door to my former home. An elderly woman answered the door. I told her a bit about who I was, a writer, etc., and asked about the neighbor. I was surprised when she invited me into the home and even offered me a seat in the living room.
Hiding behind the 50-year old landscaping lies my childhood home.
It was surreal. I had just written a post about the events of JFK’s assassination on that day—my birthday—50 years ago. And here I was sitting in the same room where I watched the unfolding of those horrific events in our nation’s history. I shed a tear or two in the retelling of the significance of that home.
The couple was quite kind to me. They gave me free reign of the house, asked me things about the property, and what it was like back in those days. The house seemed much smaller to me than I remembered, but that isn’t unusual in light of the fact I was a mere 3-6 years old when we lived there.
Regarding the neighbor, I found out that he had sold the house and moved out a month ago. Too bad I didn’t follow that nudge back then, I thought to myself. But his dementia would’ve precluded his ability to help me anyway.
The street sign may have read ‘DEAD END’, but the events of the day proved otherwise.
What Lies Around the Corner?
It was all so unanticipated—to stop by the neighborhood, to knock on their door, and most assuredly to be invited inside. Their invitation and interest was a precious gift to me, one that I’m not sure they were really able to fully comprehend. Out of my gratitude for their kindness to me, I gave them a signed copy of my book.
Plan as we may, we never really know for sure what lies ahead in our lives from day to day. What if God is calling us to something just around the corner? Would you heed to His nudge? Would you blindly do something that to outsiders may look foolish or presumptuous?
Some may say I have a habit of doing those things. Others see it as obedience and trusting God when I embrace these chance encounters. I’m just grateful that He cares enough to give me these little kisses from above, and that others may be inspired to do the same—turning their healing into hope.
In the end, I really was able to go home again. And that really was the proverbial icing on the cake for my 54th birthday.
Making Me Bold 