Skip to main content

Fresh Coat of Paint

In the time between living at home and being married now, I lived in a series of ministry houses with other girls in my church - 4 houses total. Several months ago the last of the girls I once lived with in the first on Dayton Avenue vacated the half-double, and its vacancy has made it a prime location for the boys in my present homechurch to move into. Being in that house and bringing in their belongings, I felt as though these boys were moving into my memories; it was a strange feeling, as though a good old painting I had was suddenly being painted over by someone else.

As we walked up to the front of the house perched atop the steep lawn, repainted a less-offensive shade of teal than before, memories untouched for many many months came back to life with bright vivacity. We walked around to the back as the moving van door slid open, and I stared up at the back wall of the house. I did not want to go in, didn't want to see the empty spaces filled with boys' things because my memories had kept the house filled with girls and girls' things. Looking at the second story window, I still wasn't fully convinced that I wouldn't find Erin curled up on a couch watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer when I went inside. Furniture started moving, so reluctantly I grabbed a few blue-painted boards to a bunkbed and walked inside.

I immediately dropped the boards in the second room and came back to touch and remember everything. All the colors of the walls on every floor were the same, the kitchen still dark red and the middle room still dark brown; I looked up and suddenly remembered painting the ceiling 3 years ago. Everyone else may have seen an empty front room filling up with desks and mattresses but I could see Erin's DVD shelf against the wall, the TV in the corner, Andrea on the couch dipped artichoke hearts into butter and watching soap operas. I could see the pictures on the fireplace mantle and the small plants curled over the small window ledges above the couches.

I walked up the stairs in a daze. I opened the 2nd story fridge, expecting to see my green grapes and yogurt on the first shelf. I looked at the windows where the memory of Erin on the couch was vivid; so much has happened in both of our lives since that afternoon, yet I can almost touch the blanket over her lap and sit next to her again, both of us 19 and new to the house. In the attic bathroom I had a picture of tucking my towels away on the second shelf, and at the door I remembered loaning Sara a shirt of mine for one of her very first dates with her now-husband.

The memories became stronger as I walked into the large middle room; I had spent a lot of time here. A power strip lay in the corner where Erin's desk once had been; Niccole's keyboard and Andrea's computer were as if they had never been there. Memories of the colored Christmas lights strung across the bedroom door, and the conversations with Erin as we listened to Justin Timberlake online. And the red and orange walls of our attic bedroom, "the Freshman Floor", spoke loudly. The ceiling sloped over where my bed had been, and no longer with that Star Wars poster pinned to it; the screw holes from the corkboard Dave had put up as a surprise for me were still in the wall, though. The chimney comes up through the room and dominates the center, and I remember my dresser pressed up against it and early mornings fumbling for clothes. Clear as though it happened this morning, I can remember Erin's alarm going off or Niccole shifting in her sleep (strange: all three of us are now married).

And then I began to remember what came after my three months in this house, those 6 long and hard months in my second ministry house spent missing the first. The boys moving in almost made it feel as though I were leaving the house all over again and it made me sad.

But they have a good house. Within spitting distance of Diary Queen and a block away from the girls' ministry house, they'll soon learn about the way the sun warmly hits the back stoop and the perfect breezes on the front porch just as I did. My time spent in that house was good, and I hope they enjoy it and repaint it well.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The First Stages

2 days ago I had a coffee date with the girl "in charge" of the house I'll be moving into this Sunday. Snuggled down in a sweatshirt over a white chocolate mocha during a drizzly afternoon we went over last minute details to make sure she and I were on the same page. As we wrapped everything up, she told me to wait and dashed to the car; coming back in with a polka dot gift bag I had only eyes for what lay behind the curled red ribbon tying the two handles together: two shiny silver keys. Inside the bag was a beautiful red journal and a heap of candy from all the girls to welcome me into the house, but I couldn't get over the feel of those keys in my hand with fresh cut grooves. I marveled at the sight of them threaded onto my keychain as Sarah Brasse's eyes danced from across the table. I looked up, feeling the warmth of the mocha spread from my abdomen to my fingers and toes and the ends of my hair. "It's real, isn't it?" I said. "It's

The Core Four

What a wonderful delight - the Core Four are back and typing about their lives. Nothing makes my day quite like reading a fresh entry - or two even! - from Tricia AND Traci AND Jans. Nothing compares. Especially Jans; that was what, a two, maybe three month difference between entries? It made me sad, but I checked as often as I thought of it. What a tremendous treat to click your link and find my name invoked in the first sentence - I'll be on a high from that for hours to come. To the rest of you wondering what names I'm referring to, check on my links sidebar; the three of them and I used to live in three different cities and two different states (now three cities and three states), and our little-traveled blogs kept us connected. These girls are the reason why I started writing a blog at all; it's hard to imagine that I once was the worst at updating consistently...now I can't get enough of it, and I run out of stories to tell (which is saying alot for me...) We all

I Watch You Smile - You Steal the Show

Anyone ever see "Mean Girls" with Lindsey Lohan? When she was pissed off, she suffered from a symptom she dubbed "word vomit". Hers was the result of her convulsing anger, but I have a different word vomit. Mine is basically the result of my vocabulary and emotions upchucking at the same time. I'm not quite sure what to tell you guys; what's appropriate to say, what you don't need to know, what's too much to tell you. This is probably gonna be a pretty long entry, which might scare you off, but after hearing my unusally discouraging tones I have no doubt that many of you are now riveted. I guess...you guys love me and want to know me, and for some, this is the only way you keep up with me. I'll figure out the limit as I go, I guess. I had a very good talk with my momma today, which is a good sign for our relationship. It was violently and starkly splintered for quite a while, but it has progressed in leaps and bounds lately as I've better und