Another week, and no lookers since those last Thursday. Still waiting.
I'm not Catholic, so bear with me here. I know that the previous Pope declared that Purgatory does not exist. Biblically speaking, as a Protestant Christian, I agree. However, in this physical-realm I think that it does, in way, whenever we have to wait. I mean really waiting, Anxiously waiting, for something serious. Not just when you have to be patient for the checker at Fred Meyer, or wait a month or two until you have the money to buy something you really want. I mean Wait with a capital W, as in Waiting on test results to know if the cancer has returned, or as in Waiting to hear from the doctor if a loved one is going to pull-through the surgery. Big Waiting. Potentially life-changing Waiting. The time when you have a house on the market is lower-case waiting....waiting for when someone will stop in for a look....waiting for when an offer will come in....waiting to see if your dear husband cleaned up the dirty underwear before he and the kids left the house this morning. Throw into the mix that you're not trying "simply" to sell a house, but you're trying to beat the foreclosure clock and all the ramifications of that process. In this scenario, the limbo-fires slowly begin to creep in and consume the perimeter of a barren waiting room, with my family in the center, huddled in our hard, plastic, circa-1962 airport terminal chairs. Upper-case Waiting. Big Waiting. Purgatory Waiting.
But not really. See, there are days when I can really feel the heat of the flames as they hungrily lick at the foundation of my financial future. Foreclosures are big, black marks in this credit driven society, no doubt about it. And boy, are we waiting. Waiting for an offer. Waiting for the bank. Waiting to find out when and where we'll be moving, where the kids will attend school, whether or not we'll find a place that fits in our budget and still meets our needs (and maybe a few wants). Waiting, waiting, waiting. God is so good, though, and always comes through to put things back in perspective for me when I start to sweat from the heat, making me stop in my anxiety-riddled tracks, reminding me that this is not purgatory. Sometimes it's in the form of a note from a friend, offering a prayer or a bit of encouragement. Sometimes it comes from seeing the sweet smile on my baby's face as she reaches up to greet me after a long day, squealing as I lift her into the air for a long-overdue embrace. Sometimes a ladder falls, and we get to truly experience the big Waiting. Anxious, worried, pleading, prayerful waiting as loved ones are at the hospital and we sit in our chairs, unable to impact the outcome.
This weekend, as we passed the time relaxing and catching up with my oldest brother and his family, such an incident occurred. Work was being done on his home. Power tools, powered up. Hoses and pressure washers, rolled out. Ladders, extended. The sun was shining, the baby was napping, and the kids were playing happily as the adults did chores and chit-chatted. Then, shortly before noon, a crash and a scream shattered the idyllic din of laughter, power tools, and good tunes that were serving our Sunday morning soundtrack. While moving a heavy, 40-foot extension ladder my brother's brother lost control of it (my family-tree is not included in this post as it would be too large and complicated for even a single branch to be explained...), and it came crashing down. On. top. of. his. four. year. old. son. Purgatory Waiting. Mr. Four Walls saw it happening from where he was working inside the house, but couldn't get to him quickly enough. Purgatory Waiting. He was there a split-second after the bottom rung landed squarely in the sweet child's head. He ripped that ladder off the boy and scooped him out from under the weight. But the damage was done. The ladder had fallen, and it had landed on a small child, hitting him the head and pinning him to the ground. We assessed him as he cried (a wonderful sound, given the circumstances). Relatively little blood. Some serious goose-eggs. Reactive pupils. No loss of consciousness. His dad strapped him into his car seat and whisked him to the hospital, while my sister-in-law called the boy's mother. Purgatory Waiting. A text: initial assessment is that he's okay, but they want to do a CAT scan. Purgatory Waiting. Another text: CAT scan done, waiting for results. Purgatory Waiting. Another text: CAT scan done, results look good, and he can go home. Miraculous, inexplicable, and utter relief.
A ladder fell, a miracle was granted, and I was reminded what I'm writing about. Four walls, a roof, a door, some windows. No more, no less. We usually raise ladders for better reach, for better perspective. Yesterday a ladder had to fall to give me a better perspective. Am I still waiting in a limbo-like state? Yes. Will we feel some heat in the months and years ahead? Yes. Will I always remember how I feel today, with this better perspective? Maybe, but I'll probably have more days when my vision is clouded over a bit. But for today I remember, I see, that while my circumstances are conducive to big Waiting, Purgatory Waiting, there can, and will, be bigger Waits. Scarier Waits. More painful Waits. Purgatory, in the traditional sense, does not exist - but falling ladders do. Definitely helps to give me the perspective me get over the dirty underwear left on the bedroom floor.
Hug your children, and please brush up on your ladder/power-tool safety if you're doing any projects around the house this summer.
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