The Old House

       Last week I had a meeting across town and I was actually early, so I decided to drive by our old house.  The "old house" is the term we've given the house that Wayne I moved into just about 6 months after we married.  It was a two bedroom, one bath, 900 sq. foot, little bitty house.  We moved in on July 4, 1980, just the two us.  It was a house filled with love and laughter and before too long, sweet little girls. 
     It was the house that we brought both of our babies home from the hospital.  Both times, I remember coming home to a house full of family and friends, a little bundle of pink lace in my arms.  My mama was always in the kitchen, cooking up a delicious lunch for all of us, something I miss to this very second.  
     It was the house that had a big magnolia tree in the front and the blooms would fill the whole yard with a sweet, sweet smell.  It was the house that had rich, dark soil in the back yard (unlike the red clay here at our home now).  Wayne had a garden each summer that took up two-thirds of the entire back yard. We had fresh butter-beans, tomatoes, peppers, potatoes, eggplants and much more.  Each summer we'd freeze enough veggies to eat on all winter, and enough to share with neighbors as well.  This garden is where Dana and her best next door neighbor friend, Matt, had the infamous tomato eating contest.  I am told by witnesses of this event that they ate the tomatoes right off the vine, to see who could eat the most.  Being the competitive child that she was (and still is) Dana won.  However, about midnight that night, she lost, if you know what I mean.  She got sick.  Real sick.  Thus the reason she will not eat a tomato to this very day! 
      It was the house where we were friends with  all our neighbors.  Our neighbor two doors down became like family to us, and kept the girls while we worked.  I was so blessed to have Mrs. Gruber and will be forever thankful to her for loving my family.  She is the person who invited Wayne and I to church, and even when we were hard headed and would not attend, she took Dana to AWANA's every Wednesday night.  It wasn't long before Wayne and I started attending also, and it changed our lives.  For the good.  Very good.
      It was a house of kool-aid and snacks.  I absolutely loved being the house that all the neighborhood kids could come to.  For years I made a pitcher of kool-aid every single day.  We had picnics and bunny rabbits and puppies and even a hermit crab once.  The girls learned to swim in our cheap-o above ground pool and jumped on the trampoline 'til dark almost every night.  It was the house that I actually hung clothes out on the line.  I remember one summer it was so hot, I could hang out wet towels and in thirty minutes they were completely dry!  Rough and itchy maybe, but dry! 
     It was the house where the linoleum was worn out in front of the oven in the kitchen.  Dana had started taking clogging lessons and LOVED to dance in front of the oven because she could see her reflection in the oven door. It was the house where little Lindsey would stand on the back porch and yell "Pissy, Pissy?"  She was calling our beloved dog, Prissy.  Her little lisp was so adorable.  It was the house where Lindsey would line up her baby dolls and "teach" them, scolding them for having a bad "attitude" which I found hilarous coming out of a 3 year olds mouth. 
   It was the house that got too small for a family of four.  One bathroom was not working out for three girls and one daddy, so we put it on the market never expecting to sell it.  Within a week a man and his son came and looked at the house and signed the papers that day.  Suddenly we were moving from our sweet little house, excited but sad all at the same time. 
     It had been a house of love and peace for both Wayne and myself.  Both of us grew up with alcoholic fathers and knew what it was like to live in a house filled with worry and fear.  Wayne promised me that he would never drink in fear of becoming like our fathers, and he kept that promise.  So I suppose the story here is it's not really about a house.  Big or small, it's the love that's inside that makes it great. 
     As I slowly rode by the old house, I felt a twing of sadness.  It was run down a bit, the grass was high in the backyard but I could see the girls old playhouse.  Mrs. Gruber's house still looked the same, but she is gone.  Gone much too soon after a hard battle with cancer, but she was such a sweet Christian woman, she now lives in a real mansion in heaven.  All these memories came crashing in. 
     When I got home that afternoon to our "new house" Wayne had just finished cutting the grass.  The yard looked amazing and manicured thanks to my hard working hubby and I was so thankful.  Thankful to God, not to have a bigger house (we've been here since 1991, it's no mansion) but thankful to still have a loving home.  Not a house.  A home.