Advent: House of Contentment

* My illustrious Craft Beer Christmas Tree. Could only work in a mid-brow neighborhood!

A few years ago when going through the most recent shipwreck in my life (I have had a few) I wanted to swim away from the wreckage. To get the flock out my circumstances. Returning to my previous townhouse felt like defeat writ large. I was a second away from buying a townhome in Lancaster City for $185K. I could live in the city rather than the beat-up 'burbs where my current townhouse is situated. I'd be cosmopolitan, sort-of (as cosmopolitan as Lancaster can be). And, about a 100K poorer. As I looked at the contract from the real estate agent, I had an epiphany of sorts.

Besides the upgrades in locale, appliances, and accouterments, my present townhouse and the townhouse to-be were essentially the same functionally. I liked the idea of living in the city but also worried that it would be easier to spend money wining and dining. I'd be a short walk-away from a lot of opportunities to imbibe and eat and that it could be expensive and deleterious in other ways. Although I have never really had a budget, I am naturally not a frivolous spender. I like nice things but for the right reasons. Impressing others has never been particularly high on my list.

Yet, I have to admit that the city townhouse did have a puzzle-piece part in that "I am cool and hip" vibe. Showing the world that despite my defeats, I was still a winner. That difference in 100k (between the present valuation of my current home and the home in the city) was to patch up gaps in my wounded ego. At the real estate agent's office, I put the pen down. She sighed...I had been on the line and the line snapped and I shook free from the hook in my jaw. I returned to my former townhouse to live.

Moving back was like backing a moving van out of one of those parking lots where if you try to go out the "In" way your tires get slashed by the metal spikes that go only one way. But, you can't cut the corner so you have to do it to get out. I was deflated and defeated. I was embarrassed and humiliated, at least in my own mind. I don't think anybody else, except for the two very close friends who helped me move back in were aware of the circumstances. I suffered in silence. Took it like a man. And whimpered.

I was reading a Facebook post from a Money magazine recently which noted that the primary way to be on the right side of the financial ledger is to buy a modest home in a modest neighborhood. The writer went on to say that if we buy above our means, we also will strive to keep up with our neighbors in regards to the things that the neighborhood has. Fancy cars, hot tub, huge cable package, and I-MAX sized television, a barbecue that could cook a side of beef, etc. Moving into a tony residence would only be the first expense of many to come. A debt-trap. Greenest of lawns masking the desert of finances.

I still remember well the night of the move. The previous tenant had not vacated the property in time as stipulated which effed-up the moving schedule. We had to move much later in the day and long into the night. I crossed the threshold into my place and hurt. Once inside, the blow became a dull ache. I promised myself that I would completely unpack that night. Not keeping stuff in boxes for months. Do the deed, get it done. Deal with it rather than deny it. Unpacking the boxes had both literal and metaphorical significance.

I remember being totally exhausted at like 3:30 in the morning after the move but everything unpacked and put in place. Beaten up. I opened a bottle of good Belgian Beer and it soothed my troubled soul. My neurons and nerve-endings were frayed--and the sipping the brew was my way of saying "It will be alright, I will be  alright." Not overnight, but eventually. I wondered why God had ordained such a road. I didn't understand then and I don't understand now why it went down like it did. It could have been a lot worse, it could have been a lot better. I didn't do everything right, that's for sure. But that didn't make me completely wrong either.

As I sit here and type a couple of years down the road, I am so happy that I didn't run. I absorbed the pain rather than trying to dodge it. I held the hot frying pan of circumstances until it cooled. It has calloused my hands a bit after the burn. I am more jaded than before, but that is not necessarily a bad thing. I am a lot less naive. My faith has been deepened but I also have a lot less patience with cliches and pat answers. I have less glib answers and more poignant questions. I am OK with not having all or most of the answers. I am less sure of myself and God's providential plan and that has freed me from expecting instantaneous and clear communication from on high. Wisdom comes in broken shards of illumination, not full panes of transparent glass.

Jesus was content to be born in a manger. A low estate. Be content. The story is written slowly but unfolds surely. Let the pages turn in patience.