Extreme Home Makeover - Demolition Day

I wasn't prepared for it. I had no idea the wave of emotions that would sweep over me. It was a flood - and I do mean a flood of tears and emotions all at once. For nearly two months, I've compartmentalized. "One day at a time." That has been my mantra. Pushing through each little hurdle, obstacle, whatever was necessary for the present moment. So I guess because of that I never allowed myself the time to grieve. Someone said it best today, reminding me I need to process as if it were the loss of a loved one.

But it's just a house...

Still, seeing the first pictures (I wasn't on the scene yet) of the crane demolishing the structure that used to be "home"...it brought the onslaught of emotions that burst forth into waterworks.

Last night I walked around the house thinking "Is there anything else I can grab? Anything left at all to salvage?" Today I watched as a monstrous robotic crane made effortlessly swift movements to pluck single items like the toaster oven from the kitchen counter. Items were falling from the cabinets and drawers, objects that used to be "prized possessions" now being swept up by the claws and pummeled into a pile of rubble. Then WHACK! That same effortless crane just as swiftly became a demolishing force that none of the "stuff" could reckon with. In full force I watched it rip the beams from where the ceiling used to be, tearing down walls as if they were made of toothpicks.

I know. It's a "new beginning," so everyone has said. A clean slate. I'm well aware. But in this moment, right now, I needed my time to grieve. And in my time of need, you were there. I posted "Don't ask...just pray. Please." and within minutes I had responses, comments, texts and emails from dozens who committed to praying. Faithful warriors, you've been there. Praying while we waited for a child. Praying while we went to meet our son. Praying when I went overseas on mission. Praying when mom was hospitalized. Praying after a fire torched our worldly belongings. Praying when things haven't seemed clear. And today without being given a reason, you were asked and you responded. I'm so thankful for you. Thank you for letting me grieve and cry, feeling loved and prayed for the entire time.

We moved into this house almost four years to the day that it burned. Now just two days before the two month anniversary of the fire that destroyed this home, all that remains is a pile of rubble and a concrete slab.

We're told by the end of tomorrow nothing will remain. There will be a cleared piece of land with no remnants of the house that once stood.

I already admitted I needed the grieve time. I needed the ugly cry. And at the same time, I also became strikingly aware that with or without the house, the property remains. The mailbox still boasts 166 Addie Way with or without the residence that once stood. That piece of vacant land can't house a family but it still serves its purpose to hold a house.

While I don't want to over-spiritualize, you know I must draw the lesson. The old house had to be torn down. It could no longer function as a home. The remaining structure sat rotting and decaying for nearly two months after first being destroyed by fire. The emotions came because of the finality of the destruction.

I saw a half torn green wall that used to be a bedroom. It was the room where I knelt and prayed and cried ugly tears asking God for a child, believing Him for a miracle. It was the same green wall that became E's bedroom.

"Can they bring the stones back to life from those heaps of rubble—burned as they are?" Nehemiah 4:3

No, the stones can't come back to life. The burned beams can't support a structure. The mortar and brick are no longer attached. Two months after a fire burned the house that once stood at 166 Addie Way the house is gone but the memories remain.