Not too long ago, an old friend of the Martens’ came for a visit. He had joined us for Thanksgiving last year as well as another visit since. He has been a part of the Martens’ extended adopted family for many years. As he put it, he has been to all three son’s weddings and was going to Easter dinner’s and Sunday Martens’ lunches for years before that. He is an important part of the Martens’ family experience. So when he said to me as he walked in my crowded yet happy kitchen, “This is the new 415 for me,” I felt my heart fill with joy and tears brimmed in my eyes.
You must understand a few things:
415 stands for my in-laws home of twenty plus years and it stands right across the street from my home. My address is 418.
The Martens’ are an inclusive bunch, mostly as a result of Mother LoAnn’s gathering expertise and wide wing span. Often, “orphans” [those with no parents or really bad family systems] would be warmly invited in for holidays, Monday night family dinners and even the grand ol’ Berkness annual family reunion (LoAnn’s side of the family).
The family experience one had when coming into 415 was rich and genuine and lingering. The home experience one had as they walked up the path lit with lanterns and into the big front door was warm and overwhelming welcome. The house itself was a home base even though it was a trek up to Waukegan for many Evanstonians and Chicagoans. But people would come by the masses. It became such a notorious experience, to have dinner with the Martens’, that one time LoAnn intentionally planned a whip cream fight for the end of the meal to impress some of Joel’s friends.
415 was a home where an amazing family lived who welcomed in many who were in need of a home and a family.
So to hear my home be called the new 415 was a powerful declaration of God’s ability to redeem something that went really wrong and ended in a heap of ashes. What a legacy to inherit the responsibility of creating “a home where one’s story begins” and the orphans, the lonely and lost can come in and find a place. A place where people are highly valued, made to feel important and loved, and given space to share their story and be heard. I have come to know that our home is a place of peace, rest and respite. Many have spent time in our home, in our little guest rooms and have felt refreshed, cared for, loved on and well fed. And I love that!
How fun of God to use my hospitality gifts and my power-packed dynamite combination found in my marriage to Ivan in this way.
I gladly open my door, and throw up my arms in a jovial greeting and make room for more!
418 is the new 415.
I receive that inheritance and call it good.
