The Personality of the House

Throughout my lifetime, I have lived in various houses and have found that each one has a personality. From the farmhouse where I grew up to my current duplex, I have experienced the unique pleasure of memories, colored by the personality of the house.

The adobe apartment in Honduras kept me warm during the rainy season yet cool during the hotter months. It brought me joy when my students camped inside for Bible study or knocked on the door, asking me if they could dissect frogs. The downside of that apartment was the giant tarantulas that crept into my bedroom until one of the men designed a special trapdoor to keep them out. Relief was the emotion that lived there.

My bachelorette house stood near the school where I taught in a small Oklahoma town. With two bedrooms and a cozy eat-in kitchen, I had everything I needed. My house had the only basement in the area, so when the wind twisted through tornado alley – the neighbors came running. We huddled together until the all-clear sounded. Safety was the watchword of that house.

The big two-story where my son was born sported four bedrooms, a gigantic dining room, a parlor off the stairway and a smaller living room. I re-decorated every room of that house, learning how to do stencils and wallpaper, plus scraping the nasty rubber stuff from under the carpet so that we could install tile. That was the house where my son learned to walk, where he said his first word (“kitty”) and where he came running into the kitchen to help me bake bread. We lived longest in that house, and I loved it. Security seemed to ooze from every corner.

The split level in Lawrence had everything I had ever wanted in a house. I didn’t need to re-decorate and loved looking out from the kitchen sink onto the expansive back yard. The wildflowers I planted waved in the Kansas wind. But that became the divorce house. I labeled it sorrow.

A beautiful townhome was next, provided by a wonderful couple who wanted to serve God by helping single moms. The townhome was where I learned more about trusting God than ever before. My son and I bonded as we worked through the pain. That was my healing house.

The current duplex where we now live started out as an idea – to move forward in life and eventually flip it as an investment. But the recession deleted that idea and my son was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. My cat died, and then I lost my job. Our dog died. It seemed this house would become another structure where sadness reigned.

But then May 12th happened (note the previous post) and the Keller Williams team changed everything. Now I drive up to a freshly-painted exterior. My fireplace has been rebuilt. I walk around the backyard and smile at the abundant plants and flowers that raise their colorful heads to God’s sky. I plan exotic meals with flavors from my new herb garden. And I marvel that the personality of this house has changed. From the house of struggle, it now wears a new name tag – one I thought I might never again experience. Joy. This is my house of restored joy.