In a quiet neighborhood in the heart of Colorado Springs sits Corona Street. Each time I pass this road, I am compelled to turn north to a particular home on one of its corners. A peaceful white home with green trim. It looks like an ordinary house, but it is a strange source of inspiration for me.
Every summer during college, I returned home for break. One year, my roommate, Heather (also from C.Springs even though we were both going to school in Omaha), was house sitting for our former high school history teacher. I often visited her at the home she was staying, and we watched movies, made food and basically lounged around in the evenings. The first floor of this house has wooden floors which have always been intriguing to me since it makes me think of old houses with a lot of character. Its large counter in the kitchen made it easy to pull up a stool for a conversation and the basement is filled, absolutely FILLED with books. It's like the house had a sense of wonder within the walls. I can't help but smile when I think of it.
This last Wednesday morning I was driving toward downtown for our Ash Wendesday service at Shove Chapel. About five minutes from Corona Street, I began to pray. My heart is especially heavy these days for reasons I won't elaborate on in this post, and I found myself uttering "Lord, I am SO tired....," and it was as if He answered back in a whisper, "I know, my child, just a little bit longer...."
Shortly after that conversation, I passed my street of inspiration. I remembered that a couple of weeks before, I had inadvertantly been weaving my way around the neighborhood in search of the nearby Safeway/Starbucks (yep, Jeff needed a latte...) and had nearly driven past THE house. When I got home, I looked up a TV show Heather and I had been hooked on that summer to see when exactly we had hung out there. It was 2000.
Huh, 2000. That is strange. I remember it being a wonderful summer filled with fond memories. Are you sure it was 2000? I looked at the screen again. Sure enough.
2000 was a year full of pain and sorrow. My parents had just divorced, and I had broken up with my boyfriend of 2 years. I spent the summer trying to erase the hurt. How is it that through a difficult time all I can pretty much remember from a 3 month span of time is the house?
See, I believe it was a gift from God to ease my sufferings and make my troublesome valley bearable. He gave me Corona Street. I don't know what gift He is giving me right now. I don't know what piece of inspiration I will cling to when I look back on this hard time our family is facing. I do know that He sees the struggles, and He gives us unrecognizable pieces of hope to move us on our way.
3 comments:
Becca, I know I told you but have to make sure you know. You are such a talented writer, and I know God is going to use you in miraculous and glorious ways.
Love ya girl!
Sharon
Becca, I identify SO much with this story. I have this little collection in my life of "white houses on Corona St." These little solaces in the midst of storms that became monuments of God's faithfulness that I return to when I need that peace and assurance. One of those places is in Mexico during some of the hardest 6 months of my life, and though I can't revisit it- I have a photograph on my wall above my computer to remember it... It's the same thing you talk about--it's the only thing that I really really remember from that time.
I remember that summer like it was yesterday, but among all the sh** that we had to deal with. I really remember many of the good times with friends and one of the things that I remember is hanging out with you late and talking to you while downloading tunes from napster. Funny, the good times are the memories that really made it out clear!!!
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