How You Can Change a Life

Twelve years ago, Steve and I did the most ridiculous thing ever and bought a giant fixer-upper of a house. It wouldn’t be crazy for most people to do it, but it was crazy for us because we are decidedly NOT fixer-upper sort of people. I mean, we can paint and do surface stuff, but anything more complicated than that is beyond our ability and happiness. We consistently discovered that he would rather be golfing and I would rather be reading, and so most of our nonessential home improvement projects stalled out somewhere between Home Depot and the next good book.

In spite of our reluctance to tackle upgrades, we’ve always loved this house. It has five big bedrooms and an office that I adore and a big lot on a noisy street which I also love (is there any music more beautiful than the sounds of a city waking up?) As our children began to grow and move out, other people’s kids moved in. Family dinners and noisy Movie Nights and birthday parties and baby showers all found homes in our big, un-Pinteresty home. It has been the joy of my life to be a place where people gather.

When Steve was diagnosed, my future in this house grew murky. Many reasons exist as to why, but one of the biggest was the feeling that I could never take care of this place on my own. I began to look around at condos and bungalows and quickly realized I didn’t have the emotional fortitude to face that idea just yet. The real estate market in Bend is ca-razy and I have plenty crazy on my plate right now. So I settled into the home that I love and told Jesus I would trust that He had gone before me and would be there when it was time to figure out my next step.

And then, something crazy happened. I took a leave of absence in December and somehow I found a latent fixer-upper gene in my DNA! Turns out, all that time of actually being in my house and in front of Pinterest inspired me to do a few projects. And you know what happens when you do one project? Landslide.

Each improvement makes the rest of the house look worse, so the list keeps growing. And soon the projects were moving beyond my skill level, requiring actual … power tools. For so many years, I’ve convinced myself I couldn’t do things like this.

I’ve even convinced myself I couldn’t create a home that looked the way I wanted it to look. But I was wrong. It has been a lot of work and a a lot of asking for favors and a lot of watching DIY videos on YouTube, but now I know I can do it.  

I can figure things out when I need to! I can use a power drill! I can brave the aisles of Home Depot without feeling like they’re going to kick me out! So far we’ve redone our living room, dining room, one bathroom (with another in the works) and laundry room. I love this house more than ever and I also love the things I’m learning. And my point in this blog post (even though it’s taken me 600 words to get here) is: Steve is to blame.

Steve is to blame for this change even though he didn’t help with anything. In spite of the fact that he is unable to lift a finger, he is the primary human force behind every brave thing I do. For 30 years, he’s been second only to the Holy Spirit in helping me tackle the hardest things. It’s not that he says all the right things, it’s that he is the right thing. His belief in me and his unfailingly gracious response to my (million!) failures through the years has made me believe that I really can try anything.  

I probably can’t succeed at everything, but I sure can try it, and if I make a terrible mess of it and everyone in this world thinks I’m a loser, there is one person who’s convinced I’m not. One man who wouldn’t want to be with anyone other than me. I mean, it’s astounding to me still. And his love has been my secret weapon for as long as I can remember needing a secret weapon.