Washing Windows

blog post pics 009

I went back to the old neighborhood yesterday. I stopped at 7-Eleven for a Slurpee and then went by Mom’s house. The pictures above are from the remodel of 2006.  After going to her place I went around the corner and to the other end of the street. There I saw a house I didn’t recognize. I knew I was at the right place because of the address so I snapped a picture, posted it to Facebook and tagged the friend who used to live there. He noted that it changed quite a bit. I had to agree although I didn’t remember what color it was before I could tell the windows were new. I wish I could’ve told him how I feel about windows.

Back in 2006 changing the windows made the difference.

Taking off the metal awnings let more light into Mom’s dining room. The new windows were energy-efficient and blocked out heat in the summer. They were also easier to slide open than the old ones we had to lift and put a stick under to keep open. But I’m not here to praise the value of new windows; I’m here to talk about what it’s like seeing the old ones in the dumpster.

It felt good. I am not nostalgic for the old windows because to me they were witnesses to life and not all of life was pretty. That day I saw them I honestly felt like the keeper of the secret was on its way to destruction. Strange, since glass and putty and wood can tell not tales? Yes. If you’ve read my memoir you know about the proverbial box in the basement with smudged letters M-O-L. I never spell it all out before I kick the box and whatever memories are in it. Still I’m glad the windows are gone. I felt like they had seen me and I’m not sure exactly what they saw but it was shameful.

Changing the windows made the difference.

You can’t change the windows of your soul but they can be cleansed and healed. Healing is a lot like that remodel and I know I am healed from the pain of the past. It’s like God took off the dinted old metal awnings of shame and let His light in. Then He tore out the carpeting that was covering a solid foundation. As for that linoleum, I happened to remember that old floor even though it had been replaced when I was very young. There are happy, colorful memories once buried now brought to light and shared with others. (They’re in the memoir too.)

Mom’s house had holes caused by termites. The contractors took care of them. I had holes caused by pain. The Creator took care of them. Mom had to hire a contractor that was available and sign-off on the work. I had to be available to The Creator and let Him work.

I had to let Him wash the windows.

Kindle Edition Live Now

I’m pleased to announce that Then Monday Came is out on Kindle. Life isn’t always easy. In fact most times it’s pretty darn messy. There are things in this book I didn’t want to remember, things I didn’t have to share but to withhold any part of the story would be to rob God of His glory. He has a plan of redemption for mankind and He let me play a vital role in my brother’s story. You can borrow it for free if you’re a Ki Prime member or pay $2.99. It’s a small price to pay for a glimpse at God’s Grace and Mercy.

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?rh=n%3A133140011%2Ck%3AThen+Monday+Came&keywords=Then+Monday+Came&ie=UTF8

 

From the book. It’s what I remember about the day of my father’s funeral when my time of basking in fond memories is interrupted:

“But I am spent. My day is done, and it’s time for life to go on. From outside I heard the voices of my mother and brother so I went to find out what was going on. They were out by the garage. Mom is standing by the fence to maintain her awareness of where she was. Maybe she was leaning rather than standing.

     “… too much. When are you going to quit?” She asks, apparently concerned by his heavy drinking since Daddy had died.

“When my father wakes up,” slurs his drunken reply.

His father—our father—never woke up.

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