Did I ever tell you about The Summer That We Were Homeless? It rivals the Winter at Madison Street, in that the temperatures were extreme and the living conditions were sparse and demanding. Before I tell you about the former, let me tell you a bit about the latter, so that you can appreciate the comparison.
623 Madison Street. It was a dilapidated old house, whose three stories stood abjectly on the corner, anchoring a long block of tired, ignored houses. If you squinted and cocked your head to the side a bit, you could perhaps imagine what turn-of-the-century life would have brought to this historic street, but upon making direct eye contact, the chipping paint and broken windows sighed an undeniable air of abandonment. Of life inhaled from the parlors and porches and instead exhaled into distant suburbs and rubber stamp duplexes somewhere on the outskirts of town. This was how we found her. 623 Madison Street.
When we signed the paperwork and moved in, we had dreams of restored pine-plank floors and decadent chandeliers. Of growing children dangling their legs through the shiny bannister rails and fragrant hydrangeas welcoming guests to the yawning wrap-around porch. But it didn’t take very many weeks of hard labor and evaporating funds to turn our dreams into straggling realities. Winter was blowing it’s way into town, through the musty fireplaces and the exposed slats of wood in our rickety home. The introductory months of 2000 saw well-below average temperatures, as evidenced by our frozen shampoo and the way that our white breaths would wisp and whirl above the flannel sheets before succumbing to the icy bedroom air.
It wasn’t long before we set our misguided hopes back on the shelf, rented a tiny apartment and returned the For Sale sign back to its rightful place in the front yard. We paid that mortgage for six more years before someone else was taken in by the romanticism and possibilities. We silently nodded along and signed the bottom line.
I have many unanswered questions about Madison Street. We prayed about whether or not to buy that house. We starved like orphans and worked like farmers to make the most of our resources. But that Winter has seemingly never yielded any profit, other than bragging rights that I pull out whenever someone else thinks they they’ve been dealt a rough hand. That was a long and stretching couple of months.
The other badge on that vest is The Summer That We Were Homeless. Sometimes I wonder if these slow descents aren’t so much a trail of bad choices, but rather a destination that somehow chooses you. And no matter how much you starve the disease or work the soil, you just aren’t going to get around it. I spent many hours that summer lying awake under the milky skies thinking. Thinking about faith and the cosmic God. Chewing and analyzing and turning over every truth and lie and belief that I thought I might have wrongly believed or wrongly dismissed.
In June, I was overwhelmed and panicked. I was angry with God and angry with anyone who had a zip code or a kitchen disposal or a toilet. In July, I was demanding. I determined not to play the victim and instead set all my energies toward finding creative solutions. There had to be some logical explanation for this unexpected turn in the path, and I figured if I could decipher God’s thinking, then I could predict the next step and ultimately expedite the whole process. By August, I was weary. I had become familiar with the sounds of night and the city and the crickets. Lulled by the rumble of highway traffic and oblivious to the stickiness of summer and the pangs of hunger. But it all took its toll and deep in my being, my anger towards civilization dissolved and allowed my real frustrations to surface: unanswered questions. Why does God allow discomfort and struggling and loneliness to plague His people? Is my life guided by a string of my choices - to get ahead, play the game, climb the ladder - or by an unseen hand who plays with currency other than money and power and ladder rungs? Why do others have a smoothed path and a blessed ministry, while obedience and compassion and sacrifice fall silently to the ground in salty tears?
In both of my Seasons of Desolation, I experienced confusion and isolation. I often wonder if anyone else ever feels the same way or has travelled these paths before or behind me. Some days, it seems like everyone else received some sort of Life How-To Manual that, in my case, got returned to sender. But there are other days - moments that often come on the tail winds of these seasons - where I feel a holy presence exhale through my hair and whisper into my ear. In an undeniable warmth that cuts through the icy chill of winter. In the silence of midnight and in a twinkly wonder of the fiery orbs that we call stars. In complex and unarguable questions that do more than satiate this passionate heart; they bring it to a standstill. On those days, I wonder if perhaps I am in the right place, on the right path, in the right season after all.
The last couple weeks, I have been riding one of these tail winds. Feeling the rush of surrender within the mystery of change. When I look back across the highs and lows and lefts and rights of life, I have to admit that it looks very random. But when I close my eyes and feel Jesus’ life pulsing through my veins, the breath of heaven filling my lungs, I sense that life was never meant to be a straight line without a blunder or stumble or bruise. That the beauty of scars and unanswered questions are in the redemption and healing, more so than the answers or some vague notion we subscribe to called ‘rightness’. That someday we will view the span of our lives with unveiled sight and see lights at every blind corner. And we will know that we were not alone. Not without purpose. Not misguided.
Perhaps I can keep hope in my hands for one more day, believing that He really is Father and Shepherd and Provider. Perhaps I can learn to live in the tension between questions and answers, thereby allowing Him to be bigger than galaxies and zip codes. And perhaps I can rest in His shadow, ride on His tailwind and reach for the lights that will one day guide me home.