SIGN ME UP FOR THAT HOUSE THAT NEVER NEEDS REPAIRS

Amy and I have been homeowners for three years now, and for three years I've been fighting a losing battle with our house. I am a firm believer in the "ounce of prevention" method of homeownership. So I check things fastidiously, and justify expensive repair and maintenance work as cutting off an ever more costly fix further on down the road.

But it is a never-ending battle. Our house is 83 years old, and while they built things to last back then, that doesn't mean things don't fall apart. Interior walls are hard to paint because even the smallest amounts of water damage and warping, multiplied by decades, makes for a bumpy surface. Outside trim needs a new coat, lest it rust and disintegrate. Water is my mortal enemy, and the shield we call our roof has sprung a few leaks. I am never ahead of my house; I am ever behind in the race to maintain everything.

I believe Amy and I will live here a long time, and so I worry over it; if I thought we'd be here today, gone tomorrow, it wouldn't matter to me as much that everything is properly maintained and that major problems are cut off at the pass. In fact, this fundamental difference between renters and owners is the basis for a lot of good community development policy. Owners care more, about their houses and their neighborhoods, than renters. More caring, though, means more worrying, fretting, and cursing.

(Here comes the cheesy sermon analogy.) It means more to me now that God is preparing a house for us in heaven. An eternal dwelling, that will never rot, and that is built to perfect specs. My earthly house, as wonderful as it is, has been a source of much sinfulness on my part: impatience, frustration, cursing, drivenness, despair. May it also be a reminder that my real long-term home is not here on earth.