Dan and I have lived in numerous places since getting married. Every move brings with it the exciting sense of change, the strain of transition, the yearning for feeling settled, and the joy of feeling we're home.
Looking back at the places we've lived I've pondered the lessons learned, the tears shed, the leaps of faith made -- and the walls, the silent observers that have watched our triumphs and struggles.
Our first place brings a sense of nostalgia. It was a small, charming place. An old Victorian home broken up and reassembled into five awkwardly shaped apartments. Ours included the bay window at the front of the house, the built in bookshelves that must have belonged to the wall of the original living room, and the original creaky floorboards. We didn't own a vacuum yet, so cleaning the floors meant sweeping debris from on top of the floorboards in the grooves that separated them. Those walls saw our first feeble steps into the roles of marriage. We knew so little, were very scared, and this little space kept us together when I sometimes felt myself falling apart. I loved the winter light that streamed into our bedroom through the bay window. Loved the teeny hallway-of-a-kitchen with it's strange black and white large-checkered linoleum floor. Loved that the residential treatment center for troubled youth that I interned at was just a 5 minute drive down the street. Hated the shower that turned cold after 7 minutes! But it was ours, and we did the best we could there. I think those walls would say we were very new at the marriage thing, and we had a lot to learn. And they'd also thank us for painting them buttery-yellow and cerulean blue.
Our first place: the bedroom
Our experience in our next place was as bleak as the space we were living in: Puyallup, Washington. We packed light, taking with us only that which we could fit into our two cars. No decorations. No keepsakes. Just dull beige carpets, off-white walls. And sad to say, that empty hole of a space was much a reflection of my inner struggles. I couldn't put my finger on what was so off, I just knew I was very sad, and on edge. That place was quite dingy, fittingly so, because it embodied a very dark time in my mind and heart. In truth, unbeknown to Dan and myself, we were simply experiencing our lack of knowing how to be married, and how to be married well. We grew up with strong single mothers who did the best they could, yet still our broken childhoods left us at a loss as to how to create a whole home. Into marriage we brought with us the sharp edges of jagged fragments of broken homes, not meaning to hurt each other with them, but trying so hard to force the rough pieces to fit together that we couldn't avoid it.
If those walls could talk they would scream at us for getting the most darling puppy and using that box of an apartment as a basis for potty training. It would scream at me for screaming at it in times of confusion. I saw that place, and see it still, as an enemy. It held no warmth on account of that hard time in life. The austerity of the colorless walls never held us together as we worked through our trials -- they boxed us in.
Six months of living there and we were on to a refreshing change -- our newly built home in Utah. The smell of new paint. Every light bulb in working order. Shiny black granite countertops and picture windows in every room. Oatmeal-white carpet and warm rustic-looking hardwood floors. It was a welcome reminder that even when stuck in a bland existence for what seems an endless amount of time, there are always new beginnings. We lived in our beautiful home for 6 months. I worked part-time again at the residential treatment center as an artistic director, choreographing shows, coaching the kids of musical numbers, and performing alongside them when they asked. It was simple, fulfilling. Dan recruited for the following summer sales team. We didn't have the gumption or the funds to fully furnish the place, but less furniture meant we could fit more guests! We had a Noteworthy reunion for old and new members, housed family for the holidays, had a group of friends from CA over for a night of dinner and games, and had a number of visitors from other states for numerous occasions.
If these walls could talk they'd soothingly remind us it's okay to cry. They’d encourage our use of them as a place for gatherings. They would let us know we were moving in the right direction, with hard lessons ahead. But while there our house would be a respite in between storms.
Oh the next place. Murrieta, CA. A new apartment complex. Beautiful. Faux-wood floors, three bedrooms, 2 baths, never lived in. A grand pool. A gym 5 minutes away. My mom and fellow-Burbankians a couple of hours away. These walls were holding their breath for things to fall apart. Their perfect, seamless walls must have sensed the cracks in our marital exterior. Dan and I, still new to marriage and fighting to get our footing. Things were brewing beneath the surface, out of sight, where even we couldn't see them.
We had a decent month in Murrieta before told by the company we were there with that we had to move to Corona.
Off we went. The first sign of trouble was just that, a sign. A note on our apartment door, and everyone else's, stating that the serial rapist that had attacked several tenants was still at large. Dan and I were on the bottom floor. He was gone at work all day. I was home alone and in darkness because I kept all the blinds shut and tried to make it look like no one lived there, especially not a girl alone with a cat for a dog. That kind of tension will break open things that are hardly being held together as it is. The pressure and strain was too much. Dan and I had no choice but to break down our ragged puzzle we had forced together, look at each rough piece, see it for what it really was, and assess if we could, and if we were willing, to do the hard work required to re-shape each piece. I am not even embarrassed to write about how hard marriage was for us up until that point, because I am so deeply grateful for and proud of what followed. We were, in a sense, reborn. We learned what festering lies, false beliefs, ugly habits, hard-heartedness, and weaknesses we had involuntarily brought into our marriage, and we slowly broke the chains, one link at a time.
It was hard. It took nearly a year of working everyday. Every day. With the help of God, wise mentors, and sometimes professionals, the support and understanding of family and a few trusted friends, and complete honesty and vulnerability and risk required of ourselves. Those walls, should they speak, would say we shocked them -- we made some bold moves and they held their breath as they wondered if we would hold it together. The walls of Corona would never learn the answer, because it wouldn't come until 2 more moves, the final one landing us in Glendale, CA, in a beautiful apartment in a safe part of town, 10 minutes away from family and friends, from my hometown.
Glendale got to see the new pieces of the puzzle, carefully-crafted and gently laid down, not in a harried fashion, but with caution, tenderness, and prudence, one at a time, day after day, none before they were ready, until our first whole home was created. We had lived in numerous places, yet it took 2 years before we finally learned how to create a home. It had nothing to do with the paint, the decor, the roles we originally felt pressured into or misunderstood we were to play in order to be married. It had everything to do with honesty, humility, service, hard-work, risk, faith, assertiveness, learning, changing, and emotional health. In that place in Glendale began the greatest love story of my life.
Here's where it all finally came together...
Then we moved. Again. To Minnesota! More refinement. Every move seemed to be telling us something. Stripping us of our bearings as it stripped us of our weaknesses and pretenses. Confusion always brings change. In Minnesota I read "The Proper Care and Feeding of Husbands" by Dr Laura. I realized, for the first time, how much even someone like myself, who desired above all things to be a good wife, had been subconsciously influenced by the ultra-feminist culture I grew up in in this country. I got better at marriage. Dan did too. We lived there for one month before learning that the business we were working for was a crock -- something they hadn't been honest about before confidently convincing us to uproot ourselves and work for them. We arrived in Minnesota the same way we arrived in Washington -- with only that which we could fit into our cars. No furniture. One dog. The company assured us they'd pay for rented furniture as we worked there temporarily. Promised they'd pay us out weekly. Promised operations were ready to support the sales we were going to make them. Promised us we were covered by new health insurance, so we cancelled our previous policy. All turned out to be a lie. We arrived at the apartments. No furniture. For a month! I have a bad hip and scoliosis, so sleeping on the floor was about as fun as getting killed by Dexter (new favorite show, btw). No table to eat on. No paycheck coming in (that was about as thrilling as seeing Santa come in from the chimney, walk over to your stocking, and puke in it. So wrong). Dan flew back to CA to make sales for another company just to make enough money for us to move back to the West Coast and get us through the month. But a blessing was to be had -- Dave Ramsey gave us a Total Money makeover! What a blessing. Dan and I had lived, comfortably we thought, with a hefty amount of debt throughout our marriage. He made such great money that we were never noticeably burdened by it. But when we lived in MN for a sham company that wasn't paying us, we realized how easily our debt was going to eat us alive. It was a scary time. A shameful time. Our eyes were opened to the grossness of buying on loan, of being imprudent and placing too much value of wants before earning them. We had a complete philosophy and lifestyle upheaval of our financial life, which taught us a lot about other things in life -- responsibility, stewardship, patience, security, spirituality. I remember being alone in that apartment, my husband on the other side of the country, not able to afford groceries and eating canned beans 3 meals a day for several days in a row. Never been so scared. Perfect time to learn something great :).
So we got it together. Those walls saw us pour over Dave Ramsey's advice, start to budget every penny, and cancel dozens of bills for "perks" we didn't need. It saw us say "screw off" to a dishonest business relationship, and pack up to leave.
We moved to a temporary place in Provo. The cheapest place we could find. Walls made out of cylinder blocks covered in plaster. A boys’ dorm when school was in session. Plaid couches. Those walls saw me set the kitchen on fire (not figuratively speaking!), move things from 2 storage units into it to sell, begin our on and off again relationship with P90X, discover Stevia, and again, continue to preserve, protect, and refine our love.
A couple of months later we were in a lovely basement apartment. Yes, full of hobo spiders, but also full of love. Within one year living there we paid off dozens of thousands of dollars of debt, got disability and life insurance, a Medical Savings Account (form of health insurance), made plans for an IRA that will leave us and our posterity with over 5 million dollars upon retirement, make plans for future investments, and overall take action to be responsible with our earnings. WHAT A BLESSING! I tell ya, when I think about repentance I don't think about saying I'm sorry so much as making a change. We made a lot of changes in the safety of that sweet little basement.
So now we are in our motel, waiting for our next place to finish being built. These walls saw us through our 5 year anniversary, where we celebrated with hearts full of gratitude that we stuck it out. That we held on with faith to the hope that we could make our marriage better. Looking into each other’s tear-filled eyes and smiling in wonder and joy that we didn’t give up on what has become the best thing we have ever known in life—our marriage. We’ve seen the insides of many places, and each has brought on challenges that seemed to bring out the needful thing in our lives. I think the walls of our next place, the one we plan on staying in for several years, will say that they held a couple that holds onto to each other, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, in good times and hard times, and is committed to and understands, has earned a glimpse into what it means, to be married and married well.
