These Four Walls

It was in the entry way of this house that two of my best friends made the courageous decision to drive me to the hospital, at the lowest point in my life, when I was repeating the notion that I just didn't want to be alive anymore.

It was in the living room of this very same house, that a year later (and so so much work and prayer and counseling later) I felt so deeply assured of my relationship with Christ, and rooted in a kind relationship with myself, that I made the courageous decision to come out of the closet; as a proud gay and Jesus-loving woman.

It was in this house that I got to work at my absolute dream job; guiding and teaching students about the love of God, and it was in this very same house that I realized I lost that job.

It was in this house, in the third floor bedroom, on the most cozy bed, that I often celebrated the twists and turns of the Bible, that I got to curl up with my roommates and talk about the depth of Jesus' love and debate the purpose or meaning of verses. It's in this house that I fell deeper in love with the person of Jesus.

But in this very same house, in dark corners of my room or sitting at my desk, I mourned the loss of people and friends who rejected me and the idea that anyone could love Jesus desperately, be gay, and be happy about both.

In this house, I mourned the loss of my job with an organization that I desperately wanted to be a part of and serve with, but at the end of the day, that didn't want me (at least not how I actually am). In this house I was unemployed, and scared, and uncertain of my future.

It was in this house that I got ready for my very first date and then in the living room that I asked my girlfriend to be my girlfriend and then in the driveway that I told her I love her for the first time.

This house held "Friendsgiving" celebrations, Christmas mornings, New Years Eve parties, pet memorial services, and tons of babies and toddlers and kiddos running about. This house held 1000's of laughs and 1000's of fights, break-up cry sessions, and theological discussions so frequently someone should award us all with a Masters of Divinity.

These four walls.

They hold the 2 most transformative, difficult, grace-filled, and screwed up years of my life and I couldn't be more grateful.

The honest truth is, the actual bones of this house are shit. It was a moldy mess of exposed dry wall. Holes in the floor gave a direct view of our broken washing machine which doubled as a water park for the mice that lived in the basement. It was in the kind of neighborhood, in which, on a morning walk you may wave to a kid on their way to elementary school or you may find a gun in a near by bush (true story). It certainly wasn't the physical place that made moving out an emotional process. It was the season. My first blog on this site is the blog in which I came out, it changed my life forever. I wrote it at almost the exact midpoint of my time living in the Thunderdome (the affectionate name of this mad house). The Dome stands as a beacon in my life, in a lot of ways. It seems as though there is a very distinct before and after. I struggled to find the words about why this transition was so hard, after moving so many times in my life. But what I am learning is that even if a house is physically falling apart, if it is the space where God chooses to take your fallen pieces and put them together, it will always be home.

I moved into the thunderdome so scared of God and myself and I moved out more confident than I have ever been, in both and the relationship between them. This dilapidated hell-hole of a house is my very own Calvary, tomb and Resurrection. Today, as I walked through the rooms for the last time, I prayed for the people who would move in. First and foremost, that the landlord would fix the washer that I swear came from the devil himself. But then that they might have a similarly life changing experience in these four walls. That the one of the new tenants may feel the weight of a life changed in these walls and decided that their life is so worth living too. That these tenants might feel the same grace and love radiating from the floors that carried me through the last two years. And lastly I prayed that I wouldn't forget the miracle that this house was for me.

It is undoubtably cliche to write a blog about a house, but so is a gay barista and I do that everyday so the world will have to deal with it. I have loved these four walls with my entire heart and the people that have lived with me in them. My life will never be the same, Thunderdome, and I have you to thank.