Along the rows of Adelanto where I teach, there are rows and rows of foreclosed homes. The damage in the varies from the windows being busted out to the trashcans laying askew on the driveway week after week. My overly creative mind, sometimes to its own detriment, can’t help but imagine the stories:

This is where she dreamt of more for her life …

This is where he first held her hand …

This is where grandma passed away.

You can imagine a lot more if you try.  I watched mt oldest daughter Isabella take her first steps at our last house we used to rent.  While I wouldn’t have liked to stay there, it would be great to age and grow old in the same house where all your wonderful memories happened.  Imagine if my daughter could hang her tire chains on the place I put mine.

So how much heartache is going on out there with millions losing their mortgages?  I’ll bet it isn’t the signing over of the place that gets them the most.  More than that, it’s got to be the memories they are being crow-barred away from.  I am so thankful I have a good job and I can pay my mortgage.  But, in an economy like this, is it wise to hand on to object memories like houses?  Maybe it’s wiser to see it more as large brick of wood once on a truck and now in another shape.  Not much more, and not much less.