It was the end of April in 2010, and we had big plans for the coming weekend. We needed to make it only through another week, then my husband would get paid again. We had $80 left to spend, the fridge and freezer were still nicely stocked, and we only needed a few fresh groceries to make it to the coming week.
The second most important paycheck in my life was the one my husband brought home two weeks after we had moved to Memphis. Seven and a half months after we had lost our home and almost everything in it, we looked at the check and acted like children.
Genuine goodness, the kind that overwhelms you and leaves you speechless, and makes you wonder if you are deserving of such an act, stays often hidden. Actually, truth to be told, it can show up in the dark.
I know, because it parked in front of our home. I watched it arrive!
We spend the biggest part of Sunday in the car, driving through the neighborhood. We had noticed people were pulling out the trashcans for Monday already. Like most people, we had picked up things on the street before, but we never intentionally went out to go garbage shopping. We were hoping to find a dining chair, or maybe we would get really lucky and someone would throw an old table away.
The first night in our new home was special in so many ways. How did it feel to close and lock the door behind us after so many months of not knowing in what state or what city we would end up, always wondering if -and when- we would have a place to call home again? Feeling unsettled for so long, always worrying if we could keep our dogs and if we could stay together. Being at home again, felt like nothing I had experienced before. When you regain something that was lost and could have been lost for a very long time, it’s a feeling of humbled victory.
We turned left on the old gravel road and waved a last goodbye to my best friend, who was holding our little dog in her arms. Then we closed the windows, and we focused on the road ahead of us.
We waited for Kurt’s background check. We were both nervous and fearful, for different reasons. “He wants me to co-sign for a car,” she told me and I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “You will not do that, right?”
How we look at our scars is entirely up to us. We get hurt, and when we heal, what’s left is a mark -inside or outside. As many of you know, my husband had open-heart surgery just two years ago. Whenever I look at his naked chest I shudder and wish somehow I could have prevented it, but it only lasts for a few seconds, then I am grateful. He looks at his scar with joy. He was spared a heart attack and considers himself the luckiest man alive.
In school, we got tormented with Latin phrases, many I learned and forgot but some I still remember to this day.
Fortes fortuna adiuvat – Fortune favors the strong/brave
Being strong or brave often means taking a risk. No risk -no fun! Will the brave not just have luck but also be entertained? And what makes us strong? Pain? Love? Hunger? The knight in the fairytale is willing to slay the dragon, and in exchange, the king will allow him to marry the princess. Is it insanity or bravery? Perhaps a mix of both? Maybe the promised reward affects our courage more than anything. If the princess is pretty enough and the kingdom is a nice one, it might be worth risking your life.
All we needed was THE ONE PAYCHECK people always talk about. The one that can make the difference between being homeless and having a place to call home. We had fallen off the cliff, and now we were trying to climb back up. We were ready to move mountains, and desperate enough to jump into the unknown -blindfolded. All we needed was one chance to make it all happen.