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The home we owned in Omaha was constructed in 1924. When our family moved in to the house in 2004, we were surprised to learn that in those 80 years, only 3 other families had lived in the house before us. We loved that house, and we loved our neighborhood. We even knew of one lady down the street, Miss Alice, who was born and lived in the same house her entire life!

One year in Omaha around Christmas time, a kind lady we did not know knocked on our front door. When we opened the door, she rather apologized, but explained that she had grown up in the house, the daughter of the very first owners. She was visiting town for Christmas and wondered if she could look around. She was able to tell us about some of the changes that had been made over the years, and tell us what the neighborhood had been like when she grew up. It was a sweet visit that gave us a rare glimpse of the history of our home.

I run past the house in the photo frequently. Nearly always I wonder, "what stories would those walls tell?" And it always reminds me, no, this place is not our home. (Hebrews 13:14)