We bought a house at auction a few of years ago. This was not your typical old and worn-out rental that needed a facelift. It was decades newer than our own home. It had been built with love and memories were made there.

But not when we bought it.

Furniture broken and toppled over, drawers hung open, contents strewn across the floor, cabinets ajar, shattered picture frames, cushions with their stuffing spilling out and of course, needles scattered amidst the wrappers.
I can no longer smell the musty odor of decay mingling with the stench of mold and mildew. But I can still feel the brokenness.

There was this stack of letters in one drawer. Letters pleading for change, for hope that they could rebuild the life they once had. I can still see with grieving clarity how slavery to brokenness can destroy.

Was it one poor choice that led to the next? Was it the compound weight of what-seemed-insignificant choices?

I am reminded of the Israelites. The ones to whom God said, “I will take you as my own people and I will be your God.” But they could not listen because of ‘their discouragement and cruel bondage’ (Ex 6:9). Perhaps they had practiced bondage for so long, they could not fathom freedom. They had made bricks in the blistering sun for so long, they could not get a glimpse of a land flowing with milk and honey.

Slavery has a way of blinding you and once it does, you lose sight of life itself.  

And I am reminded of myself.

How often I choose scarcity when I am offered abundance.

I choose the familiar slavery to a box-checking mentality, when I can have freedom.

I carry the burden of wrongs done to me, when I can choose forgiveness.

And how often I live hurried as if I’m running out of time, when I am literally offered all of Time.  

We fixed up that little house. It has a fresh start. A new beginning. For new memories and a new future.

* This, my soul, was meant for you too. *