“We
found a void,” our contractor told us, “and filled it.”
“Really?”
I asked. “Where was it?”
“Right
here in the front yard.” She pointed in that general direction.
“That’s
where we thought the sinkhole was!” I exclaimed, “It makes sense!”
I
remember the first day they started their work. There were holes; lots of them.
Big ones, little ones; some double and that looked like deep pockmarks
checkering the ground; a pattern of a straight line with a hole every two to
three feet all around the house. Some little ones, too. Some bigger ones that scarred the front walk
and the patio. Holes filled with murky, brown water.
The
week had finally arrived; the week of sinkhole repair. The day started with
smelly men arriving in their smelly trucks to fix the alleged culprit under our
home. My house felt like it was under siege in an all-out war. Men were
trampling my plants and women were sitting on my lawn planning an all-out
attack.
I
feel like I’m being uprooted every day as my home around me disintegrates;
we’re packing up to leave and go away. The cuckoo clock is ticking. Time is
running out. We have only months left. We leaving paradise lost to return to
the Old World; we’re leaving the land of perpetual summer for one of long
winters.
The
hot tropical rain pours down on the sweaty men. They keep on working. We hear
the continuous bang of hammers. My plants are dying; my life is disrupted. Truck
after truck pours cement through pipes into the ground and rattle my house.
Meanwhile,
the boxes pile up and I’m practicing for a Christmas cantata I will never sing
on a hot summer day in late September. Hoping to leave soon; going to the old
world from the new. Hoping to be with four precious grandchildren; hoping to find
them over the wide ocean 6000 miles away. It’s a new beginning and we’re
stepping out in faith.
I’m afraid of the cold and desolate place
where we will be but God will carry us through as always.
Still
making more repairs, but soon we’ll be ready…
Lord,
thank you for filling all our voids…
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