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When I was growing up, I thought that we had a big house. It was about the same size as the house in which I live now, but we had more people in that house. My father was a big fan of making additions to the little house he and my mother bought not longer after they arrived in our town. A second story was added. A cantilevered wall bump made room for a remodeled bathroom. A family room stretched the house into the back yard and was combined with a kitchen remodel on the inside. When they got finished, the house had four bedrooms and perhaps five, depending on how you counted. There were two bathrooms, a luxury for the time. There was a detached garage in the back yard, that received a small addition in 1969, when the station wagon we bought was too long for the building. I grew up with sawdust in the air and the sounds of hammers pounding nails. I learned about power tools in part because they were inside of our home being put to use.

After moving from that house, my family continued to live there for a number of years. The younger children grew up and moved out. My father died in that house. My mother continued to live there and after she moved to a smaller place my brother and his family lived there for several years. When we finally sold the house it served as a temporary parsonage for a church, as a boarding house for workers and was remodeled back into a family home. The last time I visited our hometown it was for sale again.

I really didn’t live in that house all that long, but I lived in the same house for my entire life through high school. The first time I moved other than packing a suitcase for a summer job was when I went away to college.

After that, I went through a period of moving on a regular basis. I had four different dorm rooms my freshman year in college. I lived in a different dorm my sophomore year and yet another one my junior year. I was married an in an apartment my senior year. During the four years of seminary, we lived in five different apartments. After graduation we slowed down. Our first call to ministry was seven years, during which we lived in a parsonage. For the next ten years we lived in a home about a mile from the church we served. Both of our children lived in that house for the most years during their growing up. They were teenagers when we moved to the house in which we live now, so didn’t stay too many years here, but we have put down roots. We’ve been in this house more than 23 years, the longest either of us have lived in any single house.

I have never been homeless. I’ve always had the luxury of having a place to cal home and a placer where i could sleep secure.

But I have had the gift of having met quite a few people who have been forced to live in substandard conditions. I’ve visited homes where you could see the bare dirt through the rotting boards in the bathroom. I’ve seen houses where blue tarps were used to try to keep water from running through the roof. I’ve visited places where mould was creeping up the walls and where leaking windows made it impossible to stay warm. I’ve visited with people who have no place of their own and have worn out their welcome in the homes of family and friends. I’ve sat down to meals with folks who live in their cars and folks who sleep in the parks.

I got started volunteering with Habitat for Humanity about 35 years ago. At first I’d show up for a work day from time to time. I served on a couple of committees. I raised a few dollars for he cause. Later our congregation sponsored houses and I was intimately involved with an entire build from pouring the foundation to turning over the keys to the new owners. I’ve preached about God’s finances and the value of a nonprofit builder in our community. I’ve sat through board meetings and retreats and worked on dozens of houses. I’ve gone home with mud on my shoes and sheetrock dust in my hair and gone home and cleaned up to go back for a meeting with bankers and real estate people.

One of my favorite parts of the process is the home dedication. I’ve attended a lot and I’ve served as the officiant at many. When I have the privilege, as I will this afternoon, the first thing I do when I arrive at the house is to look for the youngest person who will be living there and ask that person to give me a tour of the house. That way I get to see the inside of closets and the view from the windows and the sparkle in the eye of an excited tour guide. I also get to see the process of a house becoming a home. Boards and wiring and plumbing and roofing are transformed into a dwelling place for the human spirit, where people can meet and think and grow. For me the house dedication isn’t primarily about ceremony and housewarming gifts, though we do both of those things. It isn’t about handing the keys to the new owner, which we do in a special way. It is about people finding a safe place to lay their heads and a secure home in which to raise their children.

There are too many who dwell in insecure places and who have no home to call their own. I’ve been blessed to have known far more privilege than they. But I have also been blessed to know some of them. I don’t have the power to provide for everyone who has a need. But together with others, I can work to provide a home to a few - one family at a time.

Today is a day of celebration for one more family. May it inspire us to make more days like to day come for more families.

Copyright (c) 2019 by Ted E. Huffman. I wrote this. If you would like to share it, please direct your friends to my web site. If you'd like permission to copy, please send me an email. Thanks!