In the house I grew up in there was a squeak in the hallway almost from the beginning. Of course, Dad was busy milking and farming so the squeak was very low on the repair list. It wasn’t a busted water pipe. In my teenage years that squeak became a real annoyance, because it announced to the whole house when I came home. I would try carefully to avoid the area, but some part of it would rat me out. 

Years later when I’m living in the same house with my teenage children I left the squeak alone. Then some 27 years later I move into it for a short 3 months while looking for a home and there was that squeak. It warmed my heart and brought back all the memories. I wouldn’t repair that squeak for anything now. 

Funny how time changes things. What once embarrassed me eventually comforted me. The squeak I spent years trying to avoid somehow became part of the sound of home.

This past year of transition placed us directly into the housing market. The move itself has been monumental. We’re not people of great means. We live modestly and try to be careful stewards of what God has provided.

Before we ever made the move back home, we had a budget. We knew what we could reasonably spend on a house. Time was of the essence, so we immediately began searching. We had already thought carefully through what mattered most: location, condition, price — all the little nuances that go into buying a home.

Ruby and I are of retirement age, though thankfully still healthy and mobile. Even so, we knew we needed to think ahead. Multiple levels, basement laundry rooms, and upstairs master bedrooms were no longer practical options. We were trying to exercise a little wisdom and foresight while making decisions for the years ahead.

So we sat down with our realtor and began the painstaking search for a house that would meet most of our needs. I say “most” because I’m a realist on a budget, if you get my drift.

Eventually we found such a place. It checked the major boxes: one-level living, attached garage, walkable neighborhood, and major expenses like the roof and HVAC had already been addressed within the last few years. But we also knew there were things needing attention — mainly paint and flooring.

Just cosmetic… right?

But the thing about houses is this: once you fix one thing, it reveals something else. Then another question surfaces. Is this cosmetic or structural? Can I live with this, or will it eventually become a bigger problem? Is this truly important, or am I simply uncomfortable because it isn’t perfect?

Somewhere along the way, the house became a metaphor for my own life.

What really needs attention? What can I live with? What needs repaired now before the next storm hits? And what am I fretting over simply because I’m wired to want everything “right”? What can I give grace to and live with? That’s honestly one of the most important questions of all concerning ourselves and the ones we live with…where can I give grace and mercy?

I am a hardwired Enneagram 1. Disorder unsettles me. Imperfection nags at me. But what happens when you don’t have the resources to fix everything all at once?

That question reaches far beyond houses.

I’m reminded in the words of the Psalmist—“Unless the LORD builds the house, those who build it labor in vain.” Psalm 127:1 (ESV)

One lesson I continue learning through this season is this: the right tool in qualified hands brings rest to both an aching back and a troubled mind.

Maybe that’s worth remembering when we try to do spiritual DIY projects on ourselves.

Some repairs are beyond our skill set.

Keep the words and invitation of Jesus close to your heart. In His hands, peace replaces striving. The Holy Spirit quietly restores, repairs, and makes new.

Grace and peace,

Jarvis– From Soil To Soul