If you were to visit me, there is only one way you could travel through my neighborhood to my house. Scratch that- there is only one legal, advisable and most direct way to reach my house. (The fact that my brain immediately felt the necessity of that caveat shows I am surrounded by sons and wisenheimers.) Assuming one is in a car and not equipped with a parachute or industrial circus equipment, one would turn off the highway onto Howard Street, which is the start of a 3 mile wide historic town.
Before you reach the old parsonage, Foundry and Civil-War era mill, you will see historic homes. Old but full of life, these homes beckon me to imagine their glory days when the red paint on the front door hadn’t faded.
It is like a beloved grandmother smiling at you under considerable laugh lines, eyes twinkling to rival her trademark sparkling ruby earrings. A black and white portrait of her at 31 sits on a shelf, breathtakingly stunning in her youth. Despite all the changes , the two women are unmistakably the same woman. One has simply lived, weathered storms, and housed memories– but is still wearing those sparkling ruby earrings.
In the middle of these homes are three neglected, eye sores. For seven months one stood flanked by rotting wood and trash. The realtor’s sign near the street was nearly choked out by weeds, so I didn’t notice when it disappeared around Christmas.
Last week I noticed a large dumpster in the front yard, filled with trash and debris. Yesterday the house had pale blue siding, new windows, and a door replaced the plywood sprawled with “No Trespassing”. The transformation struck me. It was already hard to envision the older house. Eager to seize the “teachable moment”, I excitedly instructed the kids to look out the window as we passed.
I silently nodded to the invisible Mary Poppins of Biblical Motherhood sitting in my front seat, knowing this was just such an illustration she would pull from her bag in a Practically Perfect Way.
“Look at this house! It was broken, ignored, and it became unwanted. Someone paid a price for it when it was messy and needed work, and little by little he fixed it. Someone took out trash, tore off the rotten parts and fixed the inside. Then the outside became better. One day it will be new and beautiful. It is like what God did! He saw that we were broken, but he paid for us with Christ’s blood and death on the cross. It cost Jesus everything so could buy all of us back and have the chance to make us new. Isn’t this like Jesus? He buys us and can help make us new if we invite Him in and put Him in charge?”
As I prepared to give my final line, throw up my hands with a triumphant, “Thank you and goodnight!”, Jonathan’s voice called from the backseat. “Yes! It is just like FIXER UPPER.”
Jonathan, the correct answer was Jesus. It’s the classic rule of Sunday School! Of course, he isn’t wrong. This house is absolutely being transformed and fixed up. The Practically Perfect Mother of Teachable Moments may be as crushed as a wall on Demo Day, but I laughed.
The transformation of my children’s hearts and souls will take much longer, but clearly I have the help of Joanna Gaines and Jesus.
laughmoreabundant 