Gutted Lives

Wow. One afternoon recently I grabbed the kids, threw them in the car (along with the dog and cat), and pulled off down the street out of sight to park and wait out the people who were coming to view our house for sale, keep out of their way and all that. I hadn't really made much thought of where I'd parked until I looked up and suddenly was shocked at what I saw: Across the street was a burned out shell of a house, almost completely gutted, with nothing left really but the main frame of the structure. Not exactly something you see every day. Windows were all open air, the ceiling, roof, and much of the wood frame were darkened by smoke and fire damage, the basement flooded from water hoses, and a huge haul-away garbage container like those you see piled 4x6 high on shipping vessels sat in the front driveway , containing the remains of what once was somebody's home. Wood beams and tin air ducts littered the front yard where the demolition crew had been working hard to strip the surfaces and start anew. I got out of the car to ask a neighbor what had happened there ("a fire") and if they knew where the family was now ("don't know"). They were renters with no forwarding address, it appeared.

What struck me though, more than that, was the stark symbolism of the picture I was looking at; the house was a direct icon to me of the family I had known that lived there. I knew them. At least, I had known them in passing anyway. We bought a puppy from them a couple years ago. Looking back on it now, it shouldn't be a surprise that their house ended up in flames. Gary, the dad, who we did most of the puppy business with, seemed like an intelligent, kind, but tired guy with a wife who always had that worn-out, frustrated, and weary look to her. She needed a lot of care, which meant he needed a lot, too. Both their adult children still lived with them, one admittedly on drugs, the other living with her boyfriend under her dad's roof. A younger son, maybe 10ish, seemed to just get lost somewhere in the mix. The older two kids were always very polite and kind to us when we came to visit the puppies, but I couldn't help but notice that they needed care themselves and not just physically either.  Their house was filled with cats and dogs and all the paraphernalia that goes with them, including food and messes everywhere. It probably hadn't been thoroughly cleaned in quite some time. But they invited us in anyway and were happy to sit and talk with us, as we played with their litter of pups, trying to decide which one we'd take home. Really nice people on the surface, but hurting underneath with everyday lives singed by the kind of chaos people get used to. I used to call Gary one of my "peripherals" because he was one of the people in my life who I somehow saw all the time but didn't really know, someone who felt like an unlikely kind of social constant at the time. Driving down the street, getting a latte, stopped on the side of the road helping a lady fix her tire, I saw him everywhere and each time, I thought, a little sadly, "Hm. That Gary... He's a nice guy."

So when I saw their house was destroyed, I was sad for the little I knew of them and for the little I did know, too. I also immediately turned the image inward and wondered what my own house might look like if it were a reflection of the lives and relationships inside. Would it be clean, pleasant? Would it have that breathe-easy kind of curb appeal that makes a person feel at ease as they walk up the front path? Or would it be in ruin or disrepair from too many years of damage and neglect? Would the very air you breathe as you walk through the door be toxic and bitter to the taste? I'm not saying it's a direct correlation for this family because as I said, they were very nice to all of us, but it just made me think hard about all the things people say and do behind closed doors, the way we act when others aren't around. Guess it makes me recall Jesus' talk of "white-washed tombs." I don't want that for my life - white-washed tomb or gutted out house either one. It's a pretty strong visual.

Comments

[Jill Jenkins]

I read this post a couple weeks ago, I think, and I meant to comment on it. Thank you for sharing this. It was a very strong visual, made me reflect!