Brian Maloy

We moved into our “Tower House” we’re calling it, on Monday 12/30, two weeks exactly after the fire. It’s this tall 3 story house, with a bunch of stairs from the sidewalk too, so we dubbed it “Tower House”, the top floor almost feels treehouse-esqe, tucked up a second set of stairs high above. It’s a new build, so it’s clean and nice, doesn’t feel like it was someone else’s we’re moving into. It’s obviously pretty sparse for now, and we’re going to be super cautious getting anything we don’t really love or need, since we’ll have to eventually move it out again. But it’s a wonderful landing place, we are truly blessed. It’s a short 2 minute walk from Grandma’s (who graciously let us move in with her the last 2 weeks), it’s across the street from church (where Jack has already adventured for nature finds), and it’s on familiar turf where we weekly lived life. Mercifully, our State Farm Policy handles the cost of the rental in the meantime, truly — we can taste and see the Lord is good in this placement. 

We spent all of last week, really from 23rd until 30th with all of us getting sick at some point (mysteriously except Bear…), ending with me having a 105 fever Sunday, and Jack getting a quick doctor visit to check his lungs. I am certain the exhaustion, stress, and grief just wore us down, and whatever bugs going around lately just wrecked us — but we are on the mend. Fending off some pesky coughs, but feeling much better all around.

Things at our home are on hold for the fire investigation stuff, long story. But in the next week or two, they will boot back up. Prayers appreciated for that to all go smoothly. We know it’ll work out — we’ve been assured, and the Lord is faithful — but the logistics and stress of meetings with restoration, insurance, and construction people will be a small struggle to balance with both working at schools. So it’ll work out, no doubt — but might be a little stressful at times. We also need to go over to the house this week and poke around for the precious items we want to box up, send with the restoration people, and see if they can be saved. Then eventually, we’re told we will have to catalog everything so insurance pays for things to be replaced. Again, it is okay — but sounds exhausting and tedious on top of everything else. So prayers for that would be a blessing — just not knowing what to expect, and having the wisdom and patience to deal with it well.

I will not try to sugarcoat things, many tears have been shed. A member of our family was lost forever, there will always be a hard bittersweet memories there. The Lord certainly heals hearts, we know that, we’ve seen it, we’ve lived it. But right now, we are walking through the valley, and we are choosing daily (sometimes hourly) to walk with the Father, seeking Him to lead us beside still waters, to restore our souls. We know that promise is real — Psalm 23 is one of the most beloved Psalms for a reason. And as much as the aspiring theologian seminary guy wants to low-key arrogantly choose an obscure Psalm to cling to, my Bible keeps opening up to Psalm 23 and I read it over and over, slowly. It is a balm in this slow process of grief. After all, it’s only been just 2 weeks. But it is unfathomable and lovely how an incredibly familiar Psalm, one I’ve read and memorized many years ago, now has a new richness and even mysterious comfort to it. It’s like old things being made new, because we are seeing how this goodness and lovingkindness will follow us all the days of our lives.

I heard someone say once if something was worth loving, it is worth grieving. We loved our home we worked hard on for 10 years. We loved our sweet Sophie. We loved our eclectic style that our home had taken on. We loved our life there, the neighbors, the walks every evening, our backyard adventures and porches. We loved our life there. We should grieve it, it is worth processing, allowing the emotions and memories to unfold. But then it is good to set them at the Lord’s feet, surrender them, and walk with Him to trust His healing, in His time. And it will be hard, but good and beautiful.

Thank you will always feel lacking, the love you’ve all shown us is overwhelming — but for now, thank you — truly.