If Houses Wore Shoes

Our first little apartment was 700 sq feet on the westside, a rundown, six apartment complex still hanging on amidst million dollar townhomes.  Often we would drag our lawn chairs on the curb and drink beer and smoke cigars.  We joked that our country club neighbors would drive by real slow and watch the white trash in their natural habitat and disapprovingly shake their heads. We planned our lives in those chairs, on that curb.  We discussed children, careers, dreams and buying a home.  As a lover of change, commitment makes me nervous, so when after less than two years of marriage, he suggested buying a house, I wanted to throw up.  He explained the investment of owning over renting and I just nodded, anxiously wringing my hands. When we toured our home, I was not crazy about the lavender walls, pink carpet, or vertical blinds, but the backyard sold him and the bright turquoise front door, me. We started looking in February, closed in March and were entirely moved in two weeks later.  Compared to the majority of society, our first home buying experience was sweet, simple, and virtually painless bar the massive amounts of money and signatures involved.

We still talked about our future, this time in the privacy of a backyard we owned at the house we both loved. Our housewarming party in May was a lovely mixture of compartmentalized worlds suddenly colliding.  We all laughed, drank, and ate ice cream.  We had filled our home with people we loved and that was only the beginning. We had big plans for this pile of bricks.  

From there we had guests from across the country and the world sit and sometimes stay.  We had teenagers camp out across the floors and even two who came to stay for a long time.  We celebrated numerous births and marriages.  The word of God was read and studied gathered in the living room or around our table.  We hosted holidays, birthday parties, and missionaries.  My knees kissed the floor in moments of brokenness, it's paneling absorbed my sorrow. Through our turquoise front door, we welcomed our daughters into our forever.  We’ve kept and loved on kiddos without homes for a day or two at a time.  I’ve heaved sobs of tears from the darkest depths of my being and laughed until my stomach ached with joy. We have written names on our wall and petitioned the Lord in prayer for them. We’ve had conversations of intervention and repentance sitting in the living room. We’ve experienced flooding in the intake vents, shifting foundation, and bed bugs. It’s been nearly four years since we darkened the front door, but I feel we’ve done right by these walls.  

Love has lived here.  Souls have gathered here. The Lord has worked here.  Now we box up the things that take up space and move them to a new place. Where we will ultimately end up? We aren’t exactly sure, but it’s got big shoes to fill if houses wore shoes.