In the beginning, 1953 or so, there was an investor. And the investor said, “Let there be streets! And, with no small amount of effort, there were streets. The investor inspected them, and said they were fine.
Then the investor said, “Let there be houses!” And, in an uncomfortably quick time frame, there was a suburb. And the investor hired a relator, who sold the houses to schmucks that didn’t know any better.
And those schmucks later sold their houses to bigger schmucks, who sold them to schmuckier schmucks and so on and so forth. Until, the biggest schmucks of all, the newlywed Wards, bought their first home with every dime they didn’t have. And they thought it was good.
Until sh*t started breaking….
First the roof.
Then the ceilings
Then the fridge.
Then the water heater… and so on and so forth.
There were leaks, holes, and cracks everywhere. So, the young Wards took on roommates, to offset the cost of their house falling apart. It helped, but it hurt. They were able to feasibly fix what was breaking on the house, but they lost the ability to call it home. They were miserable. They couldn’t breath. They reached a breaking point.
Mrs. Ward snapped.
In a whirlwind of emotions, roommates were uprooted and stormy waters flooded the entirety of the house. It swept away the fog that had plagued the Wards since they purchased their little piece of purgatory. What it left behind, though, was miraculous.
From the waves turbulence, a little baby boy came to be.
The minute he was carried in through the front door, he fixed everything. The cracked ceilings faded. The missing doors became open hallways. The mismatched paint and dripping faucets were all much less obvious. Most importantly, the dingy, broken little house transformed into a beautiful loving home.
The appliances still argue on occasion. The pipes sometimes threaten to go on strike. But the baby boy brought harmony to the house and now the house makes everything work just for him.