I was either at work, or home with our baby when Beau met the home inspector. The tall green house smelled like cat pee. A window was missing. There was an impossibly steep slope tangled in blackberries and Scot's broom. My biggest concern was that the house would be slipping off the foundation. Just a year before, our neighbor in Navy Yard City had discovered that her house was slipping off its foundation. I remember explicitly (compulsively, perhaps) demanding that Beau look with the home inspector at the house foundation to be sure it wasn't slipping off the hillside. They determined the foundation to be fine.
We closed on the house, began stripping the interior, and have slowly added major and minor renovations over the years. However, we did find that the front entrance has an issue: the stoop. There's a 4' by 4' section just outside our front door that sits over top the crawlspace. The foundation is flush with the rest of the house, causing this 4' x 4' indentation to be exposed to the elements. The floorboards are rotted, as are some of the joists in our living space. We learned about this problem in late 2019 (very poor timing as we moved through the grief journey and the world capitulated into chaos.) In all of the restoration and projects, the stoop was literally swept under the rug. Until now.
I tried to arrange a surprise birthday party for Beau this weekend. But, he ruined the surprise by tearing out the stoop. The damage is more than we expected but still able to be repaired. It needs to be replaced. This unglamorous project (the very bones of our house) is vital to welcoming guests into our home. For now, our front walkway is jackhammered concrete. Beau waterproofed a sheet of plywood with RedGard and nailed it over the hole to our basement. I placed a rainbow coir welcome mat from Target and added an orange construction paper sign to caution any delivery drivers. This project is far from finished.
The stoop is a powerful metaphor for our continued commitment to our neighborhood and community. There are some deep flaws in our approach. We know about some of them, but maybe we don't know how far the problems stretch. In time, we will build something beautiful. And yet, it still looks like the hottest of messes. I heard a pastor talk about faithfulness this morning and my soul remained focused on the stoop. We are committed to this corner of the community, our tall green house in the Heights. This literal space comes with challenges, complicated and rotting. The hope for restoration is addictive, though.
To close this moment of the story, my mind continues to circle to a verse that my sweet friend in LA has displayed in her apartment's living room:
"Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce." -Jeremiah 29:5 NIV
What better place to celebrate the settling than a stoop? I look with hope to the morning ahead where I can sip a cup of coffee overlooking the gardens as I pray for our tender neighborhood.
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