The Rock House was home, the place undergirded with deep magnolia roots and azaleas planted by my husband’s great-grandfather. But in order to put our money toward debt and our actions where our mouths are, we prayed that if we should move, then would our Father give us a community of college girls to move into our home and provide us with a 4 bedroom place where we could live in close community with others as well.

In two weeks it fell into place, and I had three weeks to pack. Suddenly I was selling everything, thoughts of a future move to Africa dictating what went into boxes, to consignment, and to the trash.

… continue reading over at (In)courage!