I had been invited to a book launch. It would be on the other side of the country in a different time zone, so it would be online and late at night. I’ve never been (nor wanted to attend) a book launch, and I’m not a night person, but this looked intriguing. An academic work, by a Pentecostal scholar, addressing the equality of women and men as a church-wide theological issue, not a secondary women’s issue.
The emotion was unexpected.
The author started sharing stories. I felt my stomach tighten. These were stories I knew, had heard so many times, from so many women. He made bold statements that made my heart pound in anxiety for him. After all, they were things I say in only the safest of places. He argued for a response that made me gasp in its breadth.
“He knows!” I thought. “He has listened. He sees. And he’s saying it right out loud.”
I cried - bawled - telling my husband about it the next morning. Waved my arms telling my colleagues about it at lunch, two of whom immediately went and watched it themselves.
I texted the link to ministry friends. One of them wrote back a few hours later:
“Watched the video. My heart is singing. Will buy the book, because any person who believes in me and my leadership that much deserves my money.”
A quick email from our realtor back in Hamilton. “Thought you might be interested.”
It was a listing, and for a moment I wondered what it had to do with us. Then I saw the address - our old address.
But it’s not our old house.
The emotion was unexpected.
Years ago, we needed a house. We had viewed so many. On the day we viewed this one, in the wrong part of town, it was a mess. The vendor had wildly misused words like, “renovated” and “two-bathroom” to describe a plywood-patched floor and a random toilet in the hall. Jeff rolled his eyes, ready to leave as soon as we arrived, but the realtor looked at me. “What do you think, Patti?”
“I think I’m home,” I said.
And we were.
Every time I walked through the side gate of that weird little property, I felt at peace. With a great deal of help from others, we redid the roof, the walls, the basement, the flooring, the bathroom, the entire front porch, some of the plumbing. Jeff tore down the garage and put up a new one. I landscaped the front and back.
I did my second undergrad in that strange little house. We welcomed more people there than anywhere else we’ve lived. Our back yard hosted bunnies, stray kittens, a groundhog and once, a fierce-looking hawk.
We hoped to hang on to it and rent it out when we moved to Montreal. But that didn’t work, and we sold it within 24 hours for double what we had paid.
The new people? They tore the whole thing down, understandably. The new one is glamorous and perfect and shiny. It’s listed for literally ten times the price we paid, 15 years ago.
I’m a bit sad to realize that our little Hamilton north-end home doesn’t exist anymore. Really glad we lived there.
Time to go to work. Who knows what the day will bring? My calendar looks quiet, but calendars can be deceptive. Last week brought several unexpected moments, with unexpected emotion.
Can’t figure out how to end this post. 🤷♀️
Peace to you, friends.