Homecoming by Anne Goodrich

I was 40-years-old and living in a basement. Not a concrete-floor, cement-block cellar; my basement home was carpeted in mid-sixties Harvest Gold shag, had wood paneling, and belonged to my twin brother’s ex-wife. I was very grateful to Lorraine for my humble abode in her home, and yet – I was 40 years old and living in a basement.

I suppose I could attribute my circumstances to haste. After six years as a divorced mother and still in my early thirties, I had been ready for love, a husband, a white picket fence, and needlework in my lap at night. After reconnecting with a man I’d dated in my late teens, I quickly married him after just dating a few months. Within a year I had a new husband, a new home, two stepchildren and an infant son. What I didn’t have was a good marriage, and when it eventually became worse, I finally had to leave.

I had Lorraine’s basement, and thanked God for that, because that was about all I had left. I had no job, no home, no possessions and no money. There was one thing I did possess, though – panic attacks. Body shaking, blindsiding attacks that would hit out of the blue and have me literally turning in circles wondering how to purge the geyser of fear from my body. It was not a pretty time in my life, nor an easy one.

And yet, in the slowest of increments, my life began to change. Of course Lorraine had been one of my angels, as was my soul sister Jane. I found full-time work as a graphic designer. I saved my money and got an apartment and some of my furnishings back. I found myself turning to God less in fear and panic, and more in faith, with a desire for communion and closeness. Ink pens and watercolors were taken up again, and my spirit rejoiced at the homecoming. A good and thoughtful counselor helped me get over the anxiety attacks. Woodcarving coaxed my spirit out a bit more; the aggressive chiseling and stripping away reminded me of myself. I had hacked away all the pieces of a material life and walked into a world devoid of possessions, and yet my spirit was emerging intact, refined, a piece of God’s art, like the finished carving on my table.

It wasn’t a smooth process, this making of a new life, but I have learned how remarkably resilient the spirit is, and how much I need my Creator to live, to love, to continue to grow. Marianne Williamson once said, “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure… We ask ourselves 'who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God.”

At one time I thought I had nothing left, but it was my emptiness that God used to pour his love and spirit into. Sometimes I yearn for an easier and more secure existence. But mostly I am grateful for the awakening and growth, the way the wings of my soul have stretched open wide. I may not have an abundance of worldly things, but oh, how God’s love has made my spirit soar.