On May 24th 1981, I loaded up my Toyota Tercel in Enid, Oklahoma to move back to my parents’ basement, where I would restart my life. In the previous two and a half years my marriage had ended and my brother Don had been killed. I was a mess. I walked away from what was a very satisfying and successful five years as the Chaplain of the Enid State School. I had no plan other than to make a new life for myself. I had a joint custody arrangement with my kids’ mom. They were to go to school in Ft. Worth, Texas and to learn the joy of flying as “unaccompanied minors” to Stapleton in Denver.
When I moved into the basement bedroom I found it pretty much as my brother had left it when he died. Let me just say I went into the deepest and darkest depression I had ever known. I guess you might call this a bottom. My parents were incredibly supportive but they were also in the midst of their own deep grief. Little by little I began the journey of healing.
I went to work at the family business “Cleaver Carpet Center” and soon I was recruited by Rev. Charles Whitmer to a part time associate minister job at the church I grew up in. By Fall my life began to fall into place. It was then my folks offered me a city lot they had bought in Pueblo West. I made a connection with a company that was building 14–sided “Carrousel Homes” in Pueblo. Yes, they looked like a circus tent. By November I had moved into my own two bedroom brand new place. My kids were there for Christmas break to make it ours. They loved it. At that time Pueblo West had 3000 residents spread over miles of high desert.
For the next three years it was our home. In 1983 they both came to live primarily with me. So there I was a single dad, full time pastor, and unattached. Well, that ended on a blind date with Mary Kay. In August of 1984 we put four kids, two cats and a dog under one roof in Pueblo and rented out the little round house.
Eventually I sold it and the proceeds put us in our houses in both Alamosa, and Denver. Every so often on my many trips to Pueblo I would drive out to see how the little house was doing. About three years ago I was met with heartbreak. It was boarded up, the roof was rotting the beautiful landscaping had turned to weeds. I had no idea what had happened to cause its apparent demise.
This past week we were in Pueblo for a memorial service and we had time to pass, so I thought I would give it one more drive by. As I turned into the cul de sac I braced for the scrapped remnant of what was. OH MY!!! To our shock what greeted us was a completely dapper rehabilitation. It was sparkling. Life was there. In the doorway stood a young man, who I am sure, wondered who these strangers were scoping out his house. I waved to him and out he came. He walked up to the car and shook my hand. I said, “I had this house built in 1981, and the last time I was here it looked dead”. “Well I am a disabled veteran and I got this on a program that helps me to own my own home. This is my dream come true”.
I did find out that drug dealers had used it to run their operation, hence— it had been taken over by law enforcement. Whatever his story was in the military, it was the VA which was helping him to build his dreams. Oh yes, the VA that is being attacked by fools masquerading as leaders—I will continue to make these points as long as the sickness called MAGA runs loose.
We began to share the story of the house with each other. His final work was to redo the landscaping. “I am putting a garden in the back and I want a fish pond in the front”. I smarted off and said, “You really are from Louisiana”. He laughed and said, “Just a Koi pond”. We closed with this “You made my day”. He said, in a most military voice, “No sir, you made my dream come true”. I said, “There was a lot of love in that house”. And he said “There still is”.
Tomorrow I will celebrate with so many others the joy that comes when life returns. It was no empty tomb on Maher Ct., but rather, the little round house that could.
Onward and Upward,
Mark
Lyfting Me Up 