More than a House
It has been forever since I've taken time to write. Although I love writing and often need the outlet, I tend to get so far behind in other facets of life that I feel guilty taking the time to pen something new instead of tackling the laundry or finishing lesson plans. Today, I'm shoving the guilt back just enough to squeeze in a few thoughts.
Brian and I close on a new home next week. The house sits nestled on 4.74 acres west of Valley Center. It's full brick and loaded with potential. Yes, I said it: "POTENTIAL." We're buying a project house, not a shiny, pretty, move-in ready gem. I was excited about this prospect until I walked through it again last night. My ears got hot. My neck got itchy. My nails got chewed to pieces. My breathing got shallow. There is something in need of fixing, updating, or otherwise altering in every single room of this 4,000 square foot house. And I'm not talking about tiny things in most places. Each room would warrant its own long weekend project...and a hefty price tag.
Clinging to what little optimism I posessed, I walked outside to catch my breath and let the brain fog clear. I noticed that our neighbors to the south were standing outside, so I went over to introduce myself. As I got within 10 feet, the aroma of cheap beer assaulted my nostrils, and then--to my utter dismay--I was greeted with smiles that, though yellowed and lacking in teeth, were full of enthusiasm. The smell of stale cigarettes and motor oil mingled interestingly with the beer on their breath. They were friendly. Certainly not sober, but friendly. They assured me they were just "normal folk." I wanted to cry. And vomit.
After leaving the house to head to my sister's for dinner, I called my mother-in-law from the car. She laughed with me and talked me down off the ledge. She mentioned that her now beautiful house had been a drug house when she and my father-in-law bought it over 30 years ago. Yes, it will take time. Yes, it will take money, but it is doable and will hopefully be worth the mess in the long-term.
As I re-hashed the evening with my sister that night at her house, she echoed Susan's sentiments and cheerfully reminded me that Brian and I have family and friends who are excited for us and will be willing workers. She also suggested that maybe my neighbors just need Jesus. She mentioned to me that one of her favorite people from a church she had once attended didn't have much in the way of teeth. With my still-crappy attitude, my concession was, "Yes, they may need Jesus...and a dentist."
Admittedly, a good night's sleep has restored some of my hope in the house and some of my conviction that people--from all walks of life--have value and can't be written off in a 5-minute encounter. I say "some" because my head still feels squeezed when I think about the magnitude of what we're taking on and the unknowns that go along with new neighbors and new community.
But then I think of what "home" is. Brian and my girls will be there with me, and I suppose the three of them could make a rusted RV in a ditch become "home" for me if circumstances forced us down that road. In spite of dinged woodwork, crooked cabinets, and holes in walls, this new home will be filled with Anna's imagination, Kate's laughter, Brian's steadfast love for us all, and my prayers to a God who has us all wrapped up all the time.
Our adventure starts soon! Wish us luck!
Brian and I close on a new home next week. The house sits nestled on 4.74 acres west of Valley Center. It's full brick and loaded with potential. Yes, I said it: "POTENTIAL." We're buying a project house, not a shiny, pretty, move-in ready gem. I was excited about this prospect until I walked through it again last night. My ears got hot. My neck got itchy. My nails got chewed to pieces. My breathing got shallow. There is something in need of fixing, updating, or otherwise altering in every single room of this 4,000 square foot house. And I'm not talking about tiny things in most places. Each room would warrant its own long weekend project...and a hefty price tag.
Clinging to what little optimism I posessed, I walked outside to catch my breath and let the brain fog clear. I noticed that our neighbors to the south were standing outside, so I went over to introduce myself. As I got within 10 feet, the aroma of cheap beer assaulted my nostrils, and then--to my utter dismay--I was greeted with smiles that, though yellowed and lacking in teeth, were full of enthusiasm. The smell of stale cigarettes and motor oil mingled interestingly with the beer on their breath. They were friendly. Certainly not sober, but friendly. They assured me they were just "normal folk." I wanted to cry. And vomit.
After leaving the house to head to my sister's for dinner, I called my mother-in-law from the car. She laughed with me and talked me down off the ledge. She mentioned that her now beautiful house had been a drug house when she and my father-in-law bought it over 30 years ago. Yes, it will take time. Yes, it will take money, but it is doable and will hopefully be worth the mess in the long-term.
As I re-hashed the evening with my sister that night at her house, she echoed Susan's sentiments and cheerfully reminded me that Brian and I have family and friends who are excited for us and will be willing workers. She also suggested that maybe my neighbors just need Jesus. She mentioned to me that one of her favorite people from a church she had once attended didn't have much in the way of teeth. With my still-crappy attitude, my concession was, "Yes, they may need Jesus...and a dentist."
Admittedly, a good night's sleep has restored some of my hope in the house and some of my conviction that people--from all walks of life--have value and can't be written off in a 5-minute encounter. I say "some" because my head still feels squeezed when I think about the magnitude of what we're taking on and the unknowns that go along with new neighbors and new community.
But then I think of what "home" is. Brian and my girls will be there with me, and I suppose the three of them could make a rusted RV in a ditch become "home" for me if circumstances forced us down that road. In spite of dinged woodwork, crooked cabinets, and holes in walls, this new home will be filled with Anna's imagination, Kate's laughter, Brian's steadfast love for us all, and my prayers to a God who has us all wrapped up all the time.
Our adventure starts soon! Wish us luck!
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