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Category Archives: Quirky Stories

Living in The Fog

01 Wednesday Apr 2015

Posted by Remodeling House and Heart in A Leap of Faith, Blogging 101, Faith, Living Unbound, Personal Growth, Quirky Stories

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Being Brave, Blogging 101, Faith, Feeling Alone, Feeling Vulnerable, Fog, Ice, Inspiration, Melancholy, On the Journey, Pacific Coast, Road Trip Insights

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Blue skies, soft breezes, mild temperatures, not a cloud in the sky for miles ahead of us- this is how we began our journey.   Kids in the back, sister as co-pilot, armed with the best playlists and snacks- we were ready to cross the great state of Texas.  We got this.  Classic road trip.

Then, there it was.  A wall of clouds stretching from north to south as far as the eye could see.  The wall cloud was so tall that my sister actually thought it was a mountain range.  The ominous wall seemed to be rolling towards us.  It was something out of an apocalyptic movie.  I had never seen anything like it and I have seen my fair share of snowy days after living in Minnesota for four years. It was enormous.  It was dark gray. And we were heading straight for it with my two babies sound asleep in the back.  From the outside there was no way of telling what the driving conditions would be like from within the strange cloud wall.  But if we wanted to get home we were going to have to go through it.  There was just no getting around it.  I mean, we were literally in the middle of the desert.  Nowhere to go but through.

As soon as we entered the cloud wall it was as if someone had waved a magic wand and had frozen everything in sight.  It would appear that queen Elsa had just passed through.  Just seconds before we were looking at sunshiny skies over dusty cacti and suddenly everything was frozen solid.  There was no snow or rain.  It was as if the air was too frigid to mess with moisture and instead everything was thick with white ice.  The scene reminded me of what my freezer looks like if you leave the freezer door open all night- everything coated with a thick layer of white ice.  It was beautiful.  It was quiet.  It was frightening.

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image

Maybe it was the vulnerable position we were in, two women with small children idling through a sinister mist, but I quickly realized that I felt very alone. It was the kind of alone in which you have this desire to go back home but you are not exactly sure what you mean by “home.” I thought about my beautiful house and my loving family and it was immediately apparent to me that I was being ridiculous. How could I feel alone when in reality I am surrounded by loved ones and I have a beautiful home?

Except that it wasn’t ridiculous.  For the past couple of years my little family has been on a challenging journey of sorts.  We have experienced all manner of frustration and doubt as we continue to pray and have faith that this “thing,” this goal will somehow come to fruition.  We don’t know how this dream will be realized or how long it will take or if we will even live to see it.  Let’s just say that we kind of feel like Noah at times.  Here we are building our ark even though we don’t exactly know why because we have never seen rain.

That is the journey that we had been on when I was fortunate enough to experience the crazy winter weather in the middle of the desert.  My soul was aching with melancholy doubt; I was just trying to hold onto the dream when I first got glimpse of the ice cloud wall.  When I began to feel alone I took a hold of those feelings and harnessed them to make sense of this journey that really feels like a ship lost in the fog.

What I came up with is that on this journey you never really know what is going on in your life.  You really have no control and that fog of not knowing what lies ahead is scary and seems dangerous.  It makes you just want to get back to a place of comfort and security.  And so you try to find that security.  You look for that warm fuzzy blanket or your favorite lovie- something, anything to cling to.  But sometimes there is no way to attain comfort and security in this world.

Sometimes you have nothing to turn to and nowhere to go but through.

Through the journey.

Through the unknown.

That beast of not knowing must be faced and conquered and tamed. And yes, you should feel a little scared and vulnerable.  The vulnerability heightens your senses; it pumps you up with the adrenaline you need to be brave.

You just have to have faith that God will bring you through this journey.

Not long after the drive through the freak polar vortex of Texas, my husband and I took a drive down the Pacific Coast from Seattle to San Francisco.  It has always been on my bucket list to experience the majesty of the great giant Sequoia Redwood trees.  While driving through the redwood forest I felt claustrophobic and insignificant.  I was sick to my stomach from the winding roads and change in air pressure.  At times the forest was so dense that the trees completely blocked out the sun.  It could be a sunshiny day but you would never know that in the redwoods because the trees had conquered the sky.

I had a hard time taking a good picture of the Redwoods because they are just too tall to fit into frame.

I had a hard time taking a good picture of the Redwoods because they are just too tall to fit into frame.  “The redwoods, once seen, leave a mark or create a vision that stays with you always. No one has ever successfully painted or photographed a redwood tree. The feeling they produce is not transferable. From them comes silence and awe. It’s not only their unbelievable stature, nor the color which seems to shift and vary under your eyes, no, they are not like any trees we know, they are ambassadors from another time.” John Steinbeck

Naturally we drove past huge cliffs and bluffs that dropped into the icy Pacific ocean.  The cliffs were breathtaking and catastrophic looking- an insurance company’s nightmare.  Each wave that crashed upon the black rocks was a warning to stay away.  So of course this meant that we just had to climb down the rocky cliffs despite a rain storm and warning signs that we were entering tsunami hazard zones.  But who could resist getting a closer look at the ocean filled with all manner of mystique?

Here's hoping the tide doesn't come in!

Here’s hoping the tide doesn’t come in!

In places like that, places in which nature demands your attention and announces its strength by simply being there, I am reminded once again that I really have no control of my life.  I could run my day on schedules and events and budgets but an gigantic wall of ice could just go ahead and sweep through my life and commandeer my plans for the day. Or, a tsunami could just come on through and knock all of my kingdom down just as it would knock out all of those stately redwoods. Just like that.  And of course I know this already but I am hard headed and sometimes I have to be reminded.

Those of us who have chosen to be on this journey.  Those of us who have our heads in the clouds. The dreamers.  The crazies.  Those of us who keep the faith and muddle through the unknown focused on a mission.  We have to know that we are not alone.   It’s going to be murky and it’s going to be a windy road and a little scary at times- you might get nauseated- but we can’t be afraid to take that first step into the cloud wall.  We can’t be afraid of climbing into the tsunami hazard zone.  We must trudge on through. Something you have never seen before can be a little scary like the height of the redwood forest or the fluorescent looking moss on the trees in Oregon or like an enormous cloud of ice in the middle of a Texas desert.  We just have to go through it and maybe allow ourselves to get swept up in the mysterious beauty of the unfamiliar .  Perhaps if we take the time to admire the beauty of the unknown we will begin to feel more like we are home.  Maybe we can learn to live within the fog.

I have never seen fluorescent looking moss on trees before.  I don't know what kind of trees these are but they were everywhere in Oregon.

I have never seen fluorescent looking moss on trees before. I don’t know what kind of trees these are but they were everywhere in Oregon.

Yours on the journey,

Elizabeth

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Help Part II: Lending a Hand

28 Wednesday Jan 2015

Posted by Remodeling House and Heart in For the Love of People, Love, Quirky Stories

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Amazing Grace, Ex-Convict, help, Les Miserables, love, murder

les_miserables_quote-laughter- winter

Photo Cred located on the image.

Let me set the scene and refresh your memory: a man convicted of murder was sleeping in our family room.  Interestingly, I slept like a baby that night.  I woke up the next morning both surprised and disappointed in myself that I did not spend the night obsessing over the what ifs that had haunted me the day before.  I guess those ghosts had run their course and had floated on out of our house.

Yes, God had answered my prayers, however, I came to find that Mr. Richard was praying for his own protection.  While I went to bed with murder on my mind, Mr. Richard went to bed wondering if my husband, an attorney, was in cahoots with the County Attorney’s Office to set him up for some dubious parole violation.  Richard was trying to walk the straight and narrow and he thought to himself that that would be just his luck- the two attorneys that helped him find a warm bed for the night only did so to incriminate an innocent man.  Why else would all these people be willing to help a man like him?  Isn’t that just the way our world works?  Whenever someone tries to do something nice for us we think, “what’s the catch?”  Our world is so cynical and bruised from so much violence that we automatically assume the worst.  Richard and I were prime examples of this. Here we were, two harmless human beings racking our heads with anxiety because of the crazy shady world we live in.  Its either that or a sign that we watch too much T.V.  It all seems laughable now.  Just to be clear- there definitely was no plot to incriminate.

When I think of the month and a half or so that Mr. Richard lived with us I think of dinner.  Lots and lots of dinner.  If this were a movie, I would make a montage of all the dinners we shared.  The first few would be almost icy with us all feeling each other out and my husband, Emmanuel, trying to break the ice with his witty sense of humor.  Then, the montage would melt, a gradual progression, into laughter- lots and lots of laughter as we got to know Mr. Richard and became friends.

One day at dinner, Mr. Richard laughed a gleeful chuckle. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it but he reminded me of someone.  There was something familiar in his laugh.  Later, while my son played with his toy cars, it clicked.  Imagine “Tow- Mater” from Disney Pixar’s Cars franchise.  Now imagine that Mater is a real man and now you have Mr. Richard.

Google Search for "Tow-Mater" yielded this adorable pic.  If this is your pic and you would like me to take it down I will- no problem.

Google Search for “Tow-Mater” yielded this adorable pic. If this is your pic and you would like me to take it down I will- no problem.

Just like Mater, Richard turned out to be the unexpected friend with a big heart.

For almost 10 years now I have consistently prayed for God to give me friends.  I always have a picture in mind of what kind of friends would be most desired.  These wished upon friends are of the happy hour and paint your nails together variety.  They are shadows of treasured friendships that I had long ago.  But in reality those special friends were reserved for that special time in my life.  At least that is what I suspect because God has never given me friends like that again.  Instead, God has blessed me with the friends that I didn’t know I needed.  Friends that I never would have imagined  would be my most trusted allies.  Friends of different religions, race, age, family background, interests, heritage, geography, etc.  I mean, what could be more different than a 50 something white man from the Ozark Mountains of Arkansas who grew up shooting squirrel and a 30 something Hispanic woman who grew up in a Texas city  bordering Mexico where she made up dances in her desert landscaped backyard? In 1983 when Mr. Richard was heading into prison I was a potty training, tricycle riding 2 year old. What do we have in common?  Nothing. Everything.

And yet, the three of us could sit around the dinner table and laugh and immediately get to the deepest levels of conversation.  We could get down to the issues that really matter in life.  I have learned that when you open yourself up to meeting people that are quite different from yourself you come to find that you are not really that different after all.  All it takes is a willingness to step outside your comfort zone and get to know someone new.

ice heart in snow

Life with our Tow-Mater friend was great.  As our friends and family got to meet Mr. Richard they were always shocked to learn about his past. You would have no idea that he had completed nearly 30 years in prison.  He was so patient and so kind and considerate.  He was always one step ahead of you- anticipating your needs. And our kids loved him.  They would often run to him as he walked through the door, nearly tackling him as they greeted him in for dinner.

During his time with us he fixed our bathroom sink, fixed a door knob, fixed a leaky pipe, installed a light fixture, installed our dishwasher (see “Confessions of a Dishwasher”), helped drain our flooded crawl space (see “When your House Floats Away”), created a brick pathway to our driveway, and helped to landscape our backyard (see “Tilling the Earth”).  He did all of this as well as other things that I am sure I am forgetting.

Amidst one of our many dinner conversations, Mr. Richard admitted that he did not mind doing work around our house because a lot of the time my husband was right there next to him.  Sometimes, Emmanuel would be getting home from court, still in a suit and tie, and he would go outside and pull weeds with Mr. Richard.  Mr. Richard said that he respected that because handy-work is not exactly my husband’s forte but that didn’t stop Emmanuel from helping.  Mr. Richard really values that idea and has said that people should, ” lend a helping hand.  Do what you can.  No matter what your skill set is you can always lend a helping hand.”

Found this on Pinterest via Farmnflea@ETSY

Found this on Pinterest via Farmnflea@ETSY

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Her Name is Eva and She Built This House

24 Wednesday Sep 2014

Posted by Remodeling House and Heart in Quirky Stories, Uncategorized

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antique milk bottle, antiques, Eva's Best Drink, post World War II, Queen Anne Victorian house, relics, renovation of an old home, San Benito, Texas

Eva's Best Drink

I looked her in the eye and told her that we would live in this house. This house would be ours. I was expecting the owner to scoff at me especially considering that she had just literally laughed at our meager little offer on the house that was 1/3 of the original asking price. But instead she looked at me for a minute then smiled and told me to follow her. She took me upstairs to the guest bedroom that was lined with brown faux wood paneling left over from the 70’s. There on the fireplace mantle sat a small glass bottle which she handed to me.

At first I thought that it was a pretty cool looking relic but then she told me the significance of the bottle. When Evelyn first bought the house back in the 80’s she realized that someone was going to have to crawl under the house to take a look at what was the state of the plumbing and electrical wiring. Scrappy woman that she is, Evelyn decided that she would be the one to do it.  Under the house  it is pitch black with all manner of wildlife probably sustaining their own ecosystem within the crawl space of the house. Still, Evelyn proceeded with her quest. While she was sliding around on her belly examining the house’s foundation she found a glass milk bottle that dates back to post World War II daily life . Who knows how long it had been there or how it got there. We can only assume that it rolled under the house from the front porch.  The possibilities of it’s whereabouts were endless and intriguing to me.

But what really caught my attention and took my breath away was that the name brand of the milk was “Eva’s Best Drink.” It still gives me chills. I looked at Evelyn and told her that my daughter’s name is Eva and she is named after my grandma Eva. It turns out that Evelyn’s grandmother was also named Eva and that she had named her company after HER grandmother Eva. Evelyn’s own name was a derision of her grandmother’s name as well. Evelyn credits her “Eva company” as the main financial provider for her many, many restoration projects for the house because when she bought the house it was in shambles. In a sense, it was the legacy of her grandmother Eva that rebuilt this house.  When Evelyn found the milk bottle she took it as a sign that this house would be blessed.  Well, that was it. Sold. Ms. Evelyn did not accept our offer that day but we both knew that this house would one day be ours.

It’s been almost 2 years since that conversation about the milk bottle but this last weekend I could not get this story out of my head. It was my Grandma Eva’s funeral and all around me was evidence that she had built this home just as much as Evelyn’s grandmother had built the house. There were so many, many pictures of the chic and classy woman that was Grandma Eva. There were so many stories and eulogies shared; all of them detailing how she had put her faith and her family first. Always. There were memories galore and tears of joy that come with honoring and celebrating the life of a remarkable loved one.

Many times I scanned the room and breathed in the sweet fruits of my grandparents’ labor. It was a soothing, nourishing, and warm scent. Like fresh milk. Grandma Eva was the mother of all these people. Good people. People who are doing things with their lives to make this world a better place. She built this house. My grandparents, they laid the foundation for all of these people who I am privileged and blessed to call family.

I looked at my daughter Eva who is one of the heirs to this kingdom and prayed that I could build her a home as lovely as the one that was built for me. We don’t have to rebuild the house like Evelyn had to, but we are building ourselves a family and several ministries within the walls of this home. Evelyn’s grandma Eva lived on in the legacy of her business that allowed for her to restore this house; my grandma Eva’s legacy would live on through the scaffolding of our family as we made this house our own. I looked at my daughter Eva and realized that she really inherited both legacies. What a grand idea for such a tiny little person! My Eva would reap the harvest of at least five generations of women who came before her. All of them necessary in the building of the generation that followed and all of them essential to the restoration of the physical house that she would build her childhood memories in.

The “Eva’s Best Drink” story would stand as a reminder of how generations past have nourished us in their selfless sacrifices to build us up into the people that we become.  I realized that this story kept coming to the forefront of my mind during Grandma Eva’s funeral because it put things in perspective for me.  As I begin this journey of restoring an old home, I am thirsting for time to complete the ever growing list of home improvement projects so much so that I often lose sight of the bigger picture- the little people who are right beside me.    However, the best drink that will come from this house will not be from the completed projects but from the building of a family within these walls.  Eva gave her best and I am still drinking it all in.  Cheers!

two Evas

My little Eva celebrating her great-grandmother’s 80th birthday!

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