Way before Claire was born, I had picked out two of her godparents. It seemed like a no-brainer to me: they were social justice Christians, great fun to be around, and I knew they would take the job seriously. I was right, too. Claire was eleven days old when Bob dragged my soon-to-be-homeless self around, found every low-income deal available, and walked me through the paperwork. On the day of the closing, he and Bobbie showed up to paint. Bob has made home repairs, laid laminate flooring, done my taxes and makes me laugh. Bobbie gave Claire her first haircut and on my birthday one year made a cake for Claire to decorate for me, complete with all the sprinkles a little girl could dream of. She tells the funniest stories one could imagine.
Their house, a log cabin in the woods in Apex, was a gathering place of sorts for lots of people. Both my girls learned to swim in their pool. My over-confident niece almost drowned in their pool and THEN learned to swim there. Both Claire and Elizabeth watched "Frog and Toad" and "Balto" too many times to mention. They loved the bunny house and Elizabeth still played with it on her last visit. Bob and Bobbie's daughter's family lives just down the street and so visiting was like getting a great two-for-one deal. We have Christmas dinner there yearly.
But it's the nature of life that all good things come to an end, and Bob and Bobbie finally decided they needed to make the logical decision to sell the house, move into Chapel Hill, and get something with a first story bedroom. You know, that aging thing. They found a great house, full of light and quite near to me, and moved in. I was really happy they were so close to me. My parents could stay there when they visited. But . . . .
It was not a surprise that their decision was difficult for their grandchildren. What surprised me was how difficult it was for MY kids. Claire was very upset; she no longer enjoys the swimming like she did when she was younger, but she said, "I feel like a piece of my childhood is being sold." I explained the reasoning behind their decision, and that just made her even madder. "I DO NOT see Bob and Bobbie as being old," she said. Elizabeth cried. She still enjoyed the pool, and Bob and Bobbie's grandkids, and seeing her friends at parties there. She and a granddaughter and their friend went looking for Jesus there and claimed to find him by the well. In her mind it was like a shrine.
When the first offer came in, an inspection was scheduled, one that found some structural damage that had to be repaired. They were there almost every day, supervising workmen and knocking down the spider webs that are inevitable when one lives in the woods. At their new house, they hung pictures and enjoyed the back porch. Finally the work was done and the house could go back on the market. But . . .
I saw them at church Sunday and they asked if I had heard their news. "You sold your house?!" I asked. Bobbie laughed. "Yes, to ourselves." I was trying to work THAT one out when Bob said that they were selling the new one and moving back. "Why?" I wondered. It turned out that as a potential buyer got more serious, they felt the loss more strongly. They couldn't stand it. Their common sense decision wasn't the right one for their hearts.
The moving wasn't physically easy nor will be the moving back. But they are moving downsized possessions into a spotless house that they have loved for 27 years, and couldn't we all use that kind of spring cleaning? My kids weren't even surprised. "Oh good," they both said matter-of-factly.
My starting a school has disturbed some of my friends, who feel like it is an illogical and risky thing to do. I'm sure Bob and Bobbie will take a hit financially with selling the new house in a down market and moving back. But often, what looks like an illogical thing to do is something one's heart demands. What good is money if your last twenty years are spent in a lovely safe house that makes you miserable? What good is taking a safe job with a guaranteed salary when my heart tells me I can provide more that a subpar education for my child and others? What good is it to major in something marketable in college when your heart tells you that safe thing is all wrong? What good is having a "real job" if what you really want to do is start a brewery or an organic farm? Why adopt a child who will almost certainly have problems? Conventional wisdom isn't the highest order of wisdom. If we'd listen to our hearts more often, we'd all be happier and saner.
The truth is, there is no safe thing. Most people regret the things they didn't do more than the things they did. And thus, another reason that I am happy that I chose Bob and Bobbie for Claire's godparents. They know what's important and they listen to their hearts. I'll miss their being so close. But I'm glad my kids and I have the example that the "right" thing isn't always the best thing and that it's okay to admit a mistake and ask for a do-over. It's a pain for Bob and Bobbie at the moment. But I hope it will truly be a good story later. It already is for us.
