The Soundtrack of my Life

January 7, 2012 at 3:38 am (Ruminations.)

The house was pretty special. The only reason were able to get it was because the good friend of a good friend was a real estate agent and he stumbled across this deal. Basically a foreclosure came across his desk… and… well let’s just say he pulled some strings. We got a killer deal.

The location was not the best in the world, but it was worth it for the deal we got. It was huge… for us at least. Two story, four bedroom, as soon as we got it we had it professionally painted on the inside. It was just what I wanted. The living areas downstairs were sick, and we had all the DJ equipment set up in the second living area which was like a lounge. The way it all came together it was like a dream. It was like everything in terms of wordly desires was appearing before us. Our little family, us, Domino and the two cats settled right in.

And a short two months later is when my life began to crumble. Part of me will always wonder why he didn’t tell me what was going on before we made a commitment like buying a house, but in the end it was such a blessing from God I can’t question it.

In the landscape of my life, this house and the time I spent there will always be fraught with memories of extremes. That house was filled with the most hope I have ever in my life experienced – it was the house where I came to know God. Where I first experienced the movement of the Spirit in my daily life. Where I was blessed with the beginning of an understanding of Jesus, and a body of Christ that became my family. I learned that life could be better than I ever imagined.

And at the same time, the house was filled with the most intense despair I have ever experienced, as I watched everything around me crumble, fall apart, and be destroyed. By ‘everything around me’, I mean my life. My marriage. My family, both outside and inside. My home. My house. My friends. My belongings. My delusions of what life is supposed to be. My delusions about myself. My perception of what the world is. My pride. My trust. My love. It was all gone.

In that house I remember – after he was gone – sitting in the living room reading my testimony. It was around the time the house went on the market – just 14 short months after we had popped a bottle of champagne in the kitchen to celebrate the purchase. But this was a different celebration, it was the last meeting of my CR 12 step group, and we had a little party and read our testimonies to each other at my house. Might as well, it was empty. I had gotten about halfway through writing mine. I was reading it to my sisters and I just started sobbing. I finished reading it through my sobs – chest heaving, struggling to breathe – and when I was done I just sat there staring at the pages. Empty. My heart felt dead.

That night, as soon as they were gone, I made a phone call. “Mom. Can you please come.”

Through tears. “Yes, baby, of course.”

And then silence as – like so many times before over the last 12 months – she listened to my broken sobs, absorbing the radioactive pain that was emanating from my existence, throbbing from every pore. Inhale, exhale, trying to breathe.

Despair deeper than I can put into words. And at the same time triumph. The victory of Christ in my life. Wonderful and terrible at the same time.

————————–

Today I was sitting in a client’s office in the upper level of her house, and I felt the pleasure of the sunlight shining on me through the vertical blinds while the cool breeze slipped in through the slats, kissing my skin. It felt…

Just. Like. Home.

The home I had in *that* house.

My office had been on the upper level, and it was just how I wanted. I had painted the walls PURPLE – straight up. A desk for working, art table set up, all my junk stored away in the closet. North facing window overlooking the street and in the distance you could see the mountains. It was really cool when there was snow on them, enjoying a sunny winter day in So Cal while gazing upon snow across the way. Many afternoons I spent appreciating the cool kiss of the breeze slipping through the vertical blinds to give me a haunting embrace.

Today… that breeze… it haunted me again.

So now there is a task at hand. I am making new memories to accompany the soundtrack of my life. Maybe next time the breeze will remind me of another day, another person, another tear. Another smile. Maybe that painting will remind me of another room, in another house, where the hope outweighed the despair by a much larger margin.  Maybe next time that song will remind me of joy instead of sorrow. Maybe it will remind me of an amazing adventure, hiking the wilderness and exploring caves with my new family that God blessed into my life (we write our addresses in pencil and people wonder at our existence).

Maybe… maybe, soon… the other memories will haunt me less and less.

Maybe.

I’m ready to let go.

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