What Remains...

Christmas is all about hopeful expectations. What is wrapped in the box under the tree? What's in the stocking? When and how long do we get to visit our family and friends? Will it snow? So many hopes are pinned on the dreams of what Christmas will bring. Like many, our kid's favorite holiday is Christmas. I think kids thrive on routine, and traditions are just that, a routine with more meaning. One of their favorite traditions is setting up our tree right before Thanksgiving and decorating it before all the family and friends that come to the feast. It takes us an entire day since we get a live tree (no pre-wired lights), and we usually get one that is around 12 feet tall. Several ladders are staged around the big tree to hang everything properly. We play Christmas music, drink hot cocoa and reminisce about ornaments as we discover them all over again while smelling the fresh pine aroma. We accomplished the tree decorating and had a wonderful Thanksgiving with the blessing of family, neighbors & friends. Little did we know what the future held for us less than a week later.

It should have been an exciting time. It was a dream and prayer for almost 20 years. Our family had planned and prepared FINALLY to build our "dream house." This house was painstakingly designed for years. The home we planned to move out of was supposed to be a "two-year flip." We had been in the house for 18 years, not exactly a "flip." We hired an architect, a landscape architect, and a contractor. We were set to move onto a piece of land that we had bought several years earlier to build our dream house. We kept praying all the while that obstacles put in our path would be resolved, and we could build. Blockades were placed in our way in the form of a hurricane wiping out the dam on our property, a hole in an out-take pipe in the pond requiring the entire basin to be drained and re-engineered, problems with the placement of the planned house, and various other obstacles. We cleared the lot, put our "two-year flip" on the market, and we were FINALLY ready to have building permits issued. The week before Thanksgiving, we were given the news that the home we had hoped to build and been drawing, redrawing, contemplating, perfecting, and finally committing to after three years in the hands of an architect, would not be created.

The dream ended one evening in November 2017. One night before Thanksgiving, our builder came to our house to tell us he couldn't build the new home. He took another job, and along with our build, it would be too much for him to attend to. We wished him well and told him we understood, given how long our project had taken to get to this point. As I closed the door and looked at Pat after the builder apologetically left, our faces said it all. We knew it was over. We were done. We had taken too long. There had been too many distractions. There were signs all along that we should not build this house. God had finally shut the door on this dream and told us a resounding "NO." We decided to get through Thanksgiving and Christmas and revisit the decision not to build after the new year.

We had already had a chaotic year starting in January with several problematic family issues. A terrible car accident involving my mother injured her earlier that summer, my Grandmother's death, and wrestling if we should choose new schools for the kids. Pat and I were exhausted. Our marriage was stretched thin. We had the stressors his job requires, along with the busy lives of the kids. We decided I would accompany him on a work trip to NYC at the end of November. We needed this time together desperately to focus, make decisions without interruption, and reset as a couple.

We arrived in New York to find we had picked our arrival evening as the Rockefeller Christmas Tree was due to be lit. As we were driven to our hotel, our driver informed us he could not get us to our hotel since the streets were closed to accommodate the crowds. He told us we would need to unload from the car and walk a few blocks to our hotel. So, we hauled our suitcases down the intersections among the mass of people and made it to the hotel. As soon as we arrived at our room, Pat literally dropped his bags inside the door to sprint back down the streets for his dinner meeting. He was now late.

I returned to the street with the crowds and found massive gates funneling people toward Rockafeller Center. It looked like a lot of fun to attend, but I was hungry. I decided I would walk in the opposite direction of the crowds and find dinner to take back to the room and unpack. I found a tasty little falafel stand and headed back. Upon taking my first bite, I received a phone call from my sweet Aunt Brenda, who stayed back with our kids. She started the conversation with, "Now, we are all fine, but there is an issue. I really didn't want to call, but..." She told me that she had dropped the kids off at their youth group and decided to go shopping for the two hours. When they arrived home, they heard water splashing then actually stepped in water as they opened the door. As it turned out, a newly renovated bathroom upstairs (over a year since the update) had a water line blow from the wall that leads to the faucet under the sink. It had apparently been flooding the house since sometime after they left.

Now, I want to introduce you to my sweet Aunt Brenda. She is one of the most giving, kind, genuine, loving, and beautiful people anyone can be graced with knowing. She always sounds like she is smiling when she is talking to you. Our kids call her Nana and my Uncle Terry, Papa Terry. They are as close to them as Grandparents, and they love each other mutually with all their hearts. My Aunt is as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside. She is always put entirely together, from her perfectly ironed and attractive clothing to her hair, makeup, and nails. Nothing is ever out of place. Well, the evening of "The Flood," as we now call it, things changed.

After telling me what happened, I asked her to video call me to see what we may need concerning repair people. The video lit up my screen with the first images of our home and the kids. The kids were walking through the house wearing rain boots and carrying umbrellas. It was raining from our ceilings! They wanted me to see that they had adequately prepared for the deluge inside. They were excitedly telling me where to look and showing me through the house. Aunt Brenda was already wet from opening the gushing bathroom cabinet, where the water line was located to try to turn off the water. She did a masterful job laughing her way through the house and the mess with the kids in tow. They were all making the best of it and removing everything they could from the affected rooms. She walked into the guest room, which had a ceiling sagging from end to end. I asked if she could poke a small hole in it to relieve the water weight. She did, and a rusty, nasty waterfall gushed through the ceiling right on top of dear Aunt Brenda's head and her pretty white sweater. She had already been sprayed in the face by the sink rupture but was now soaked completely. After seeing the damage, I tried to call Pat, but I couldn't reach him. I called several friends to survey the damage in person and let me know if and who I should get to help. They all agreed I needed to call a crew in right away. Do these things ever happen between the hours of 8-5? It was now closing in on 10pm. I found a company that said they could come, but they were an hour away. In the meantime, the kids packed what they needed for school the next day and went to our friends, Scott and Sandi's house to spend the night. Aunt Brenda stayed at home, still desperately trying to rescue as much as she could from water, and waited for the crew to arrive.

A short time later, the team leader for the restoration group arrived to determine if they needed to bring in a crew, begin that night or wait until the morning. Aunt Brenda opened the door for him in all her rust and wet glory. As soon as she did, she said I hope you brought a few people to help. He said, "I think this is going to take a busload of folks." So, the house was left to him, and Aunt Brenda made her way over to our friends' house.

I began calling the airlines to get a flight out first out in the morning and called our insurance company. I left our hotel around 3:30am to get to the airport to get back home.

Upon returning, I was met with another house entirely. Rooms had been emptied, walls, ceilings, and floors had been torn out. Large humidifiers were all running, generating a cacophony of humming and buzzing as they worked to remove moisture from every space in the house. People worked everywhere in the house, taking moisture readings, ripping out parts of the house, dumping drawers and closet items into boxes, hauling furniture to our garage, and dumping everything wet outside on our lawn. Storage pods were brought in and parked in our driveway to hold the contents of our house. Aunt Brenda and I began our own packing. Friends started arriving, bringing food, boxes, and helping us pack. So, we were officially moving without planning to the farm where the "dream home" was supposed to be. The night before, mostly packed out by complete strangers. The farm contained a small house on the property, and it was the best option since it was impossible to live in our home.

We had purchased our giant live Christmas tree two weeks before and now need to remove that. I sent out a message to all my friends asking if anyone needed a giant, live tree. Luckily, my friend Claire had just moved into her new home and had an area it would fit. She came over and helped us remove all the ornaments, and we arranged for the tree to be picked up. Later that day, my son came home from school and sat down on the stairs where the tree used to stand tall and beautiful. I sat down beside him and asked what was going on. He had tears well up in his eyes and said, "Are we even going to have a Christmas this year?" I answered, "Absolutely! I already have a plan for another tree!" We had a sock monkey tree in the house that I had put in the car (still loaded with ornaments) to bring out to the farm. All was going to be just fine.

We moved into the small house at the farm. We were now officially literally living "on top" of each other. The kids shared a bunk bed in one room, my Aunt in another bedroom, and us in a master bedroom. It was a disorganized mess, but we were all okay, so that was all that mattered. The kids were very uneasy about moving to the farm. It is either described as isolated or peaceful, depending on how you look at it. They determined it was lonely and, therefore, not safe.

I assembled the little sock monkey tree and shoved it into a corner of the living room. Truly the only place it would possibly fit. There was indeed no space for a tree, but what was one more bit of chaos to add to our mess of stuff in the interest of a Merry Christmas?

We also have two dogs that live with us: Wiggles, a German Short Hair Pointer, and Gus, a Shar-Pei. We had just rescued Gus from a horrible puppy mill rescue situation only three weeks before the flood. Before the flood, he would not even come out of his crate that we left open. We had been working with him to trust us enough to explore more of the room the crate was in. He had progressed to coming out and making a small circle around a table only to return to his "confidence crate," as the kids called it. Now, we were uprooting this confused dog and starting over with him as well.

Three days after moving into the farmhouse, the sock monkey tree decided that it would revolt, and all the lights blew. Have Mercy! So, we had a four-foot tree decorated with sock monkeys and no lights. At this point, all I could do was shake my head and laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of our entire situation. We decided it would make for a memory we would never forget.

What remained of our home was just a shell of what it used to be. Our sanctuary proved not to be a house, but our faith, family, and friends. What remained was a family resilient enough to roll with the bad luck we were delivered. So much of what was truly important was what remained.

We decided that we would take weekend trips whenever possible to get away from the small house and keep our minds off the impending renovation and mess we were in. We had been told it would take several months to restore the home, so we thought we would make the best of it. So we began planning some car trips around our area.

As December marched on, things were so busy as they always are in December. The insurance appraiser had arrived and gone through the house to render our adjustment. We celebrated Christmas, counted our blessings, and awaited the insurance company to proceed restoration. By the time the insurance company finished their estimate, it was February.

"Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." Matthew 6:34

We had made so many plans for ourselves. This is a good verse to remind us to plan, set goals, and trust God's guidance. We trusted God with this dream. We trusted Him to enable or halt it. It took us far too long to recognize all the "no's" placed in front of us. It is hard to let go of an aspiration one has put so much thought, time, money, and desire into. I think that is why it took us so long. We didn't want to hear the "no." Now we had our plate full of possible worries. I had to trust God with each day's concerns and be patient with the timing of this new issue we faced.

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The only two photos of NYC. The view from our cab as we approached our hotel and the sunset from the airplane.

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Here is Aunt Brenda teaching the kids how to make homemade noodles, one of her specialties. I took the house photos upon entering the morning of after "The Flood". I was not quite expecting to see walls, floors and ceilings gone.

A photo with the Sock Monkey tree in the background. Wiggles and Gus.