Trail of Crumbs: house

I vaguely recall a question on a behavioral sciences exam a few years back asking what the most stressful life change involved (on some “proven” psychiatrist’s scale I am sure) and getting the question wrong. I think it offered a) marriage b) moving c) something else privileged people like to stress out about. These days, I cannot be any more convinced that B is the exact right answer. Empirically proven day and day again. Let me tell you, my rock hard façade is showing a little tectonic shift over here. My impenetrable resolve weakens every time a subcontractor triples his bid or the time it takes to do the project. I acknowledge this house is old, but are they just trying to correct my overly visionary ambition or something?

Last weekend, husBen and I went to the city dump more times in one day than I previously thought possible. We even started to think it was kind of fun, as each time we pulled up, we would get to borrow hard hats and neon vests in order to safely pitch refuse off into a smelly abyss. It is funny what new home-owners get prideful about: we went to the city dump 4 times today, how exciting!

We closed on Friday, and by Saturday morning, several of our family members and over-indulgent friends descended upon the house like a swarm of adderalled worker bees. We chopped up ivy, spread mulch, hauled limbs away, fixed siding, and a litany of other things I hardly registered. This house needed love, but even more love than just husBen and I could offer. While we were working, my big brother texted me a reeaaaal casual question: How do you know God exists? I looked around me: at my “new” home in Houston TX, my healthy husband, my mom and dad and mother-in-law and practically-mother Mrs. Janet, at my friend Mel (each covered in layers upon layers of dirt/mulch/who-knows-what) working so hard for no other reason that they love us extravagantly. I could not, on my own, have orchestrated such provision. In fact, for each hard task in life I continually sign up for, God provides the very strength and support necessary to run hard through it. So the answer to Miles’s question merits more than a text; it merits a look at the lives God is present in and knowledge of whose eyes are interpreting that presence. These eyes see God’s reality with humility (listen, I know my vices) and gratitude (awe that He even cares). I wonder, how do you know?