So, I feel terribly honored and extremely humbled to be a guest writer on such a wonderful corner of the Internet as the Remodeled Life. You will find after reading this post that I am most definitely the least talented Carmona when it comes to writing (and pretty much everything else outside of keeping up with fantasy baseball stats). I am crossing my fingers that my post will please the palate of your mind as I am hoping to maybe get a full time gig writing for this site. The pay isn’t great but I feel that if I can get a steady flow of posts in then I will have leverage when it comes to picking the dinner menu.
Megan thinks that this first post is going to be about my ongoing battle with the millions of tiny little holes that are spread throughout this house; she will be greatly mistaken (though I will get to that eventually, it will be entitled Holy War, so keep a look out for that). I want my first post to be about what this house means to me on the male side of things. Megan has done a great job of giving you her point of view and to a large degree our point of view, but I just want to let the world (or at least the very privileged few that know about this site) to know what this house represents.
A year after Megan and I got married we purchased a house. Our first house was wonderful. We envisioned living there for a long time, raising our kids there and putting down some roots that would grow into something great. A funny thing happens though when you think that you have all of your plans laid out perfectly, the Ultimate Planner steps in and sets you straight. You see, God had other plans for us, plans that included me quitting my job, us selling our house and me going back to school so that I could go into the ministry. We are not the smartest people in the world, but we are smart enough to know that when the Creator of the universe who spoke the world into existence tells you to do something you better do it.
Through all of the changes in our lives Megan was a rock. She could have complained about so many things but she never did. She could have grumbled about moving in with her parents for a couple of months (I know I did), moving into a house that could fall down on us at a moments notice, and most importantly putting our plans of children on hold. Through all of this she waited patiently, wanting what God had started to come to fruition. She sacrificed so much so that I could follow my dream and we could follow God together. She was a great example of the sacrificial love that Christ showed us. I am not calling my wife Jesus, not at all, but I think that there is a parallel, however bad the comparison may be. He gave up so much so that we could have life because He was following the will of the Father. She gave up so much because she wanted us to follow the will of God.
That is what this house represents to me. It represents how God has molded us and brought us to this point in life. It represents the amount of work that we still have in this life. It reminds me of how lucky I am to have Megan as my wife and how much that she loves me. It also represents what Megan and I have been through together and what we will go through in the future, except for now we have been blessed with Silas to be a part of the journey