The Parallel Tracks Of Good And Bad
We aren't ready to vacate just yet--but we're just trying to nibble away at the monumental job of adjusting to the phase of life we now find ourselves plunged into. Hurting knees have nudged us toward a one-story house for years, but our son's recent move from home has been the final shove.
The tentacles of his personal space extended well beyond his bedroom, and unraveling them has set off a series of complicated chessboard maneuvers to reclaim lost ground. The game is still undecided.
One by one, closets have been completely vacated, their long-dormant occupants extracted like bad teeth. Three amorphous heaps--keep, discard and decide--have waxed and waned. The "keeps" return to the closet, and the "discards" are shown the door. The "decides" frequently shift from pile to pile like the pea in a carnival hawker's shell game.
Order is eventually restored, only to be quickly undone as the game is replayed with dressers and shelves. Then come forced marches of furniture from room to room and level to level. Beds go up. Chests come down. What once worked well moves round and round. The high ground of order is repeatedly gained and lost.
Loads of good clothing are transferred to other stewards-- and a long-standing theory is proven once again. Fabric shrinks if left too long in the dark. Pants that fit perfectly only ten years ago are now too snug. Dark aversion is costly.
Aside from several mounds still awaiting final classification and disposition, most public areas now radiate drastic improvement. Significant strongholds endure, however, defying us to advance upon them. Nevertheless, we are determined to prevail--and rid ourselves of excess baggage prior to a move.
As each layer is stripped away, we observe the onion shrinking--but it's still an onion. At what point, we wonder, should we begin to solicit prospective buyers? We worry that time is slipping away. But we persist in the painful ordeal of adjusting to this new life without the son who brought so much light and life to this house.
Our son arrives to help us with some heavy moving and slaps us with yet another startling revelation. He wonders aloud if we might be willing to sell the house to him and his business associate. They have big plans to fix up and rent space--and our thrill is tempered with a bit of anxiety. And they will take it without the repairs we have wondered how to accomplish.
Though our props are knocked out once more, another theory is proved: good and bad do run along parallel tracks and often arrive about the same time. Dawn is unexpectedly breaking on one of the dark nights of our lives. God's ways are mysterious indeed.
Copyright 2002 James McAlister
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