Blog Bio My house, my home--wherever it is

Our Kearney home

My father was a pastor. For us that meant we didn’t stay in one location for more than two to four years. How long we stayed and how often we moved depended on when another church would ask Dad to candidate and whether or not my folks felt God leading them to a different church.

My childhood was spent in Canada (my folks drove across a frozen lake in January so I could be born in the US), Minnesota, Wisconsin, Wyoming, Kansas and Iowa. In Clitheral, MN we lived in two places: a small house with very little room and a former red brick bank building that stood on mainstreet and still had a working vault. It also had a path out back.

Our Siren, Wisconsin residence was next to the church and held secret passageways. In Wyoming, Dad doubled the size of our home by adding on the old rectangular church building when the church bought the facility of a shop that went out of business and remodeled it for a church. The only way to get from one part of our house to the other was through a connecting back porch.

The Kansas Country church provided a large farmhouse on a farm worked by the members.

Iowa also had a farm-style house next to the church. But none of these houses were ours. In fact, since the church owned the buildings, my folks had to ask permission for changes--sometimes large changes, sometimes to simply add a nail on which to hang a picture.

We moved to Kearney, not for a church, but so I could attend college. My disabilities meant I needed to have family close. After renting, my folks bought a house and I could understand Mom’s joy at being in charge of her own home.

My parents planned to retire in Kearney, but then  Mom died suddenly of a stroke. At the time, Dad had been called back to a church in Canada. When Mom died so did their dream. Dad stayed with his church in northern Minnesota, met and eventually married a widow.

When Keith and I married, we rented apartments and then a house. We prayed for a house of our own, but didn’t have the resources until a government program was announced--and we qualified. My contractor brother Paul had wanted to build us a house, only neither he nor we had the financial resources.

But with the government approved loan, Paul was able to build a house specially designed for my disabilities. It is a one level plan with no basement, no stairs, and easy accessibility.

Friends helped us move in in 1979, just before the new year. It was just in time. I finally had a home that was ours. We brought our first child home from the hospital early April.

Today, I look around my home. The design hasn’t changed though it has been repainted, recarpeted, re-sided, had two new roofs--thanks to the weather--and had assorted other repairs.

We raised our children here, our grandchildren have spent countless hours with us on visits. This house has seen us through illnesses, surgeries, birthdays, and too many holidays and celebrations to count. Every nook and cranny holds memories.

I look back with gratitude for those who pushed us to apply for the loan and walked with us through all that entailed. And we still use the heated front walk Paul added as a Christmas surprise. I was also glad when not long after Keith retired, we were able to finally pay off the mortgage and make the house truly ours.

Now that we’re geezers and slowing down, that one-level plan is a blessing. After living in so many places, I am far from moving on from a place that has been a real home for so long. I also look forward to making many more memories in this, a home of our own.

© 2020 Carolyn R Scheidies
Published Kearney Hub 2/23/2020
Read more of my life in my bio The Day Secretariat Won the Triple Crown
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