Day 96: Foreclosures and such

We're hunting for a home and I keep falling for these houses that I know nothing about.  A tiny cape in dark green, nestled in the forest.  A modern house with wooden twisty stairs and a wood stove.  An ancient farm house from Colonial Times painted bright red and tucked on 17 acres with original rock walls and a tiny pond.  Over and over these perfect little places get me excited.  I can picture us in each one.  Wheeling barrows full of mulch and planting fruit trees.  Walking the property like my parents do on Sunday afternoons. 

But the dark green cape was already occupied- with ghosts perhaps, but also with garbage.  The kind that piled out of the shed and hung in the corners of the loft.  A strange unkempt feeling and the charm was lost.  The modern house with twisty stairs was sold the day before we asked to see it.  And the rustic Colonial was jammed with a lifetime of antique junk.  They saved everything, including the house, pulling it back off the market a week after it's debut. 

So much hope.  So many expectations.  And I can't helping thinking how similar this whole house hunting game is to finding a mate.  At some point each of us is in the market for a partner.  We meet all kinds of people.  There are those we diregard immediately; we're just not attracted.  There are others who catch our eyes, but they're looking for deeper packets.  And there are people we meet who seem to be just what we're looking for.  A perfect match.  But eventually we see the garbage in their corners.  The junk they have piled away comes spilling out of the shed, an avalanche of baggage and we run from their ghosts.  It's just not worth the hassle.  Then there are the ones we lose.  The partners that would never be, as they were snatched up by some other buyer.  Already taken.  These would-be partnerships can drive a single girl (or guy, perhaps) crazy with what-ifs and could-bes until eventually the reality of being alone is impossible to ignore. 

And then last weekend we saw a home.  A two hundred year old house stapled up in vinyl siding and my heart just broke.  A foreclosure, the occupants pulled apart the kitchen- tearing out cabinents, leaving empty scars on the tile.  A sandy circle next to a busted deck showed where the pool once was.  But the driveway is long with grassy hills on either side.  Standing in front of this home, that I wouldn't have glanced at twice, I'm wondering if this could be the one.  Because with people and houses, the outside is only the beginning.  It's not until you get past the veneer that you see the value of a home- or a person.  Perhaps it's better to choose the one that you can grow with.  Whose imperfections you find charming.  Even if the rest of the would doesn't see the value.  I mean this house is going to take alot of work, but there's an appeal to falling in love with a fixer upper.  Whether it's a house or a person, there is value in seeing each other at our worse.  To know and be known. 

And so I find myself wanting this house.  Against all logic, I'm falling for it.  I know it's torn apart inside, it's edges are rough and a little bit ugly.  But I'm standing on the gravel wanting this place, even as I know it to be broken.  And this is what love is.  To see one another in our brokenness.  Our rough edges and torn apart innards.  To look and to know and to love, as is.  Because there's a bit of a foreclosure in each of us.  So we go ahead and choose each other and we work together until the shape of our union because the dream we've been looking for.  A house.  A marriage.  Our home.