It's been a while since I've written here at Through the Weaver's Eyes. This is partly due to the pace of life here and a little bit due to all that goes with being in a new place. But mostly it is because this is the first major move where I've skipped autopilot for the hard parts and instead allowed myself to be present to what was unfolding - to listen, to notice, and to feel. Previously I thought that major change was easier to deal with when viewed from a safe distance and in the rear view mirror. Allowing myself to feel this transition while intentionally focusing each day on a positive aspect of my new life in North East Ohio has been a challenging but good new discipline. I look forward to my first autumn here. I've loved this time of year no matter where I've lived, and I'm told that soon the leaves will turn beautiful colors and light up the countryside. Bring it on!
One place in this transition where I've struggled to "settle" is in my house. House maintenance is that place where my greatest insecurities meet my greatest sense of inadequacy. I know next to nothing about maintaining the "bricks and mortar" of a home. This little house (that captured my attention and wanted me to buy it) is full of possibilities, but it also has a punch list (mostly from age and deferred maintenance) that is a bit overwhelming. Knowing which item to tackle first while being a steward of finite resources easily starts a spirited inner game of second-guessing myself. Address the flooding in the back yard or the leaking chimney? New gutters? Maybe - I'm not sure. Which comes first?
I was in the process of getting quotes for a variety of work (and possibly making my decision by closing my eyes and picking two repairs at random) when the process was upended by the delivery of a tree house. I had always wanted one as a child and envied the neighborhood kids who had a tree house/fort from which they'd wage many spirited battles. I didn't like the fort or battle part - I wanted one for reading - to curl up in my own space with a good book and a view of everything around me. But back in the 60's little girls didn't get tree houses - they got doll houses. Like many girls in the neighborhood I had been forbidden from even climbing trees - it isn't very lady like. But I loved trees, and my new little house was fortunate to have several mature trees on the property - old soldiers that had provided shade and were pros at absorbing carbon dioxide. The ones on the Monroe side of the property looked the oldest - elder trees that kept my house shaded from the late afternoon sun and had witnessed a history about this house and area that was unknown to me.
Unfortunately, the bigger of the two trees met its match last Wednesday. First came the loud crack(!) of thunder followed by a jolt of something hitting the house with such force that I was sure a car was now parked in my living room. I collected myself and headed for the living room to see what just happened. My view out the window was obscured by leaves and branches - not what I usually saw when looking out that window. Once the rain subsided I went outside to look, and saw that a main limb of the old tree was now on my house.
This was not the kind of tree house I wanted!
Overwhelmed, I reached out to two people from church - and they were right here to make sure I was okay. One reminded me that it could have been much worse - and he was right! The various limbs just missed two windows and the canopy of leaves cushioned the fall of the heavy limb. Things were dented, scratched and broken, but the roof integrity didn't appear compromised. Several days later the insurance adjuster would tell me that the roof needed to be replaced in the next couple of weeks, but not as an emergency.
The next day the tree was chain sawed off my roof, and the day after that the crew came back to take the rest of the tree down. Drop, chop & grind. Within a few hours there was a crater of mulch where once the old tree stood. With the branches gone the damage to the house could now be seen. I was very lucky - everything that was broken can be repaired, and no person was injured. .
Once they were done with their work I headed outside to survey the scene. This little house that has drawn me in and frustrated me with maintenance issues now looked like the survivor of an unequal fight. But it was still standing - and its opponent was mulch and sawdust. This little house has spunk! And in that moment of appreciation and respect, something shifted in me regarding the house. No longer was it an endless punch list of maintenance headaches and a bottomless money pit. It was s spunky little house built after WW II by a young man and his father so the young man would have a home for his new bride. They lovingly cared for this home all their married life. He left the house through death. His widow continued on until she could no longer stay safely in the home she loved. Selling the home to me allowed her to live in a setting that gave her enhanced care. A neighbor told me that she would be devastated to hear that the tree she loved was gone. Love and hope built this house, and love and hope will repair and maintain it and allow it to continue being a plucky little house where I can curl up and read, or sit out back and watch the fireflies (earlier in the summer), or where Benjamin can come to visit Gramma and find his toys waiting for him - even the wooden garage with three doors and three keys (currently a favorite)!
The punch list isn't any shorter but the order in which things will be done is pretty clear. The roof and gutters need to be replaced. But that's okay. Now it is a labor of love. And that makes all the difference.
I am so grateful for each neighbor who stopped by to introduce themselves and offer assistance. I am also very grateful for each dear soul from church who brought help and encouragement - especially during those first few hours of shock. One of the down sides of being present is that you really feel what happens - and this shook me! But every time I needed a word of encouragement or a hug, someone was right there to help. God with skin on...
I can look at the damaged roof or the scars on the house or long for the lost tree (and see myself as an unfortunate victim), or I can see the love and support that surrounds me even when gravity appears to have the last word (and embrace love and resilience). I can tell the story of this house as one of inconvenience or frustration or tragedy-averted, or tell it as a story filled with that very human mix of challenge, hope and possibilities. What I focus on - how I tell the story - has implications for how I feel about myself, God and all of God's creation.
May I never forget the lesson brought to me by the tree house. Gravity is powerful - but love always wins.
How do you view the events that happen to you in your life? Is it time to rewrite your story?
Much love and prayers,
Kim
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