And Then These Newlyweds...

Remember yesterday when I told you that 114 years ago, some guy made good on the American dream and built a house?

Well...thirty-five years down the road, the dream changed for him. I'm not sure what changed it. Maybe he had a chance to start over somewhere else, or maybe he was aging and couldn't maintain it anymore...but whatever happened, that house went on the market.

And a couple of crazy newlyweds...in their early 20's...saw something in that box propped up on bricks. The box with exposed lightbulbs hanging down from the ceiling of each room.

I wonder what she thought...the young bride...when she walked into the house for the first time. I wonder if she saw the potential in that box. I'll be honest...I'm not sure I would have. I'm not sure I could have looked past the rough frame to see a future.

But Grandma did.

She and Grandpa...so new at life together...joined hands and put $50.00 (yes...fifty dollars...) down on the table and with that promise...the house became theirs.

They made payments of $12.00 {yes, that says twelve dollars} a month until the house was paid off.

And they set out to make that primitive house into a home.

Grandpa worked hard...and he added a real foundation to the house...and electricity...and plumbing...and a kitchen...and hardwood floors...and a garage...and much more...slowly. They didn't go crazy into debt for it. They did what they could, when they could.

And slowly it became home.

It became the place they welcomed their first child. My mom. {Literally the place they welcomed her. She was born within the four walls.} And then their second child. My aunt.

They made it home in every way...not just the paint color on the walls and the curtains at the windows...but this was also the place where they committed their lives to the Lord, taught two girls, housed family members in need, dreamed dreams, planned vacations, and worked through hard days and crushing blows.

This was home.

And by the time I was born, they'd lived almost fifty years within the walls of that house and built literal and figurative foundations.

I remember that place. The home where I came for Christmas, Easter, and Thanksgiving. Where Grandma cooked creamy mac n cheese in the glass dish that nestled in the wicker basket. Where cousins gathered around on folding chairs to slide up to the extension of the extension of the dining room table. Where Grandpa lined up dining room chairs to keep me from falling off the couch when I spent the night with them. Where Grandma and I sat in recliners to watch Nick at Nite {when it was the truly classic stuff} on Saturday nights after she was a widow and I had a driver's license.

It was home. A far cry from the home they made their own 79 years ago next month.

It was a warm. loving, inviting place with memories. Good memories. Hard memories. Forever memories. The stuff of which life is made.

And I never knew it would be mine to continue the legacy.