You know that scene in The Money Pit where the house is coming together, and it seems the army of men know what they're doing after all? Of course, then Tom Hanks falls into a vat of paint that whole Rube Goldberg incident ensues. But you know what I mean.
We haven't quite had such an incident here yet--though I waited for it as a handyman chopped into a load-bearing wall today and the whole house shook.
For right now, I can see the dust clearing, the house becoming more habitable, and feeling more like a living, breathing domicile, as opposed to ancient rubble. As I looked down at my daughter's footprints in the filth, I could actually imagine a day where I wouldn't have to worry about her contracting tetanus from a rusty nail.
Hubby grilled steaks and corn on the cob while I shined up the brass on a couple of antique switchplates. Right before dinner, I showed him the freshly cleaned master bath, new shower curtain, window covering ready to be hung, scrubbed medicine cabinet and...
...the tracks of a worker's boots across my newly mopped floor.
Oh well. It's our version of home, for now.
As I lay here in bed, I noticed my fingers were unconsciously encircling the purple cross around my neck, the one my father-in-law gave me. I have faith. It will all come together. God will prevail over the rubble and fortify this home. He is our load-bearing wall. Our home might get shaken every once in a while, but we will not fall.
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