***
In January of 2021, summer-drunk and happy, I read a message in our flat chat that poured cold water over my sunny state: we were being kicked out of our Big House in Mount Albert. The Ma and Pa of one of our flatmates (aka our landlords) were going to renovate the house and the seven of us would understandably be in the way. Still, I was devastated.
That Big House had been a source of total joy to me over the past year, a place where I had made real friends and grown in more ways than I could count. I didn't want to leave my tiny room next to the back door. I wanted to always have C a few stairs away when I wanted a walk, and T and J down the hall when I wanted to cook. I wanted A's excellent hairdressing skills two doors down and M's gentle jokes across the way. But the landlords had spoken and in the way of renters everywhere, we had no choice but to listen - it was time to go.
I found a new place easily, advertised on a Christian accommodation website. The house was modern and surrounded by beautiful native bush. The lady showing me around was quiet and kind and thought I would be a good fit for the flat. It all worked. I called a moving company and booked them in for a Saturday afternoon. They stacked my (ample) belongings in the centre of my small room and I began to unpack them, working into the night to finish as much as I could on that first day. I went to bed tired, but happy; this place would be home for as long as it suited me.
***
Only, as it turns out, it didn't suit me. Cracks in my new living situation began to appear almost immediately and only widened as the days went on. Most things came down to a difference in what I wanted in a home, versus what all of the others wanted. I would come home and greet a flatmate only for them to eke out a quick "hello" before sprinting up the stairs to their room. Dinners were silent, solitary affairs observed at different hours for each flatmate. We also had different ideas on following Covid lockdown rules - I believed in observing them, others did not. I was used to sharing meals and going on long walks with my flatmates, followed by rounds of Monopoly Deal and an episode of TV. I had none of that here and missed the Big House and its inhabitants more with each passing day. One night I was woken up by someone or something (both equally terrifying prospects) tapping on my window. Clutching my pillow, I wondered how long I could continue living like this.
***
Enter Ma (Amma). My mum had been privy to all the goings-on of the flat and she heard in my voice what I wasn't admitting to anyone at that point: I was unhappy there. As a homebody, if wherever I'm calling 'home' isn't a good fit, my very being begins to crumble. Amma knew all of this and in classic mum fashion, had begun making enquiries of everyone she knew in Auckland to see if anyone had space to spare. At first, prospects were less than thrilling. I spoke with one Aunty who offered me her spare room as long as I didn't enter communal spaces with the family and never had any friends around. I politely declined. I went to look at a flat and had an overwhelming feeling that it was not for me. Declining that politely over email only led to a cold silence.
Then one day, Amma called with an intriguing update. One of her sales reps from work (yes, that was how far she had extended this search) had a self-contained unit available in Mount Roskill. Her rep wasn't sure whether it would suit me, but I would be welcome to come and have a look. So that is how, on one Sunday morning before church, I found myself getting a first look at the Little House. Only it wasn't little, it was huge. The unit had high ceilings and natural light streaming in through the windows which spanned one living room wall. The separate bedroom was bigger than any bedroom I'd ever had. The bathroom was new, the kitchen had ample storage and the house was warm. Standing in the living room, I looked out the window at a green expanse filled with birds flitting from tree to tall tree. I thanked D & L for showing me around, and told them I would let them know.
That same afternoon, I told them I would take it.
***
Things moved quickly after that. I gave notice at the haunted house, emphasising the fact that my new place would be (ever-so-slightly) cheaper, leaving everything else unsaid. The news was accepted sedately and without protest. My new place was largely unfurnished, so I scoured Trademe for a couch and a rug and a TV. My new landlords promised a dining table and microwave, rattan chairs and a kettle. I began to feel that particular blend of excitement and nausea I get whenever I'm about to make exactly the right move; it's a feeling that has never steered me wrong.
In the midst of all the preparations on my end, I received a call from Pa (Appa). He asked if I would like a hand with the move. Let's see, did I want my wonderful and extremely capable father coming up to Auckland to help me with my move? You bet I did. I said yes, please, and thank you, and kept packing.
***
Moving week arrived. I had roped friends into helping me move boxes into the place earlier in the week, so all that was left was the big stuff - bed, study table, rug. My dad arrived on the Friday night and spent the night on an air mattress in the new place, while I stayed one last night at my old flat, relishing the thought that there would be no more sleepless nights spent there. I woke up to a sunny day and comms from a chirpy Appa - moving day was here.
I wish I could tell you that I was calm and collected over the process of moving weekend, but that wouldn't be stretching the truth as much as evading it entirely. Frankly, I was grumpy. I found the lugging of mattresses and endless driving completely exhausting, and I let my poor father know it. I snapped at him so many times that Saturday, and he, gentle man that he is, responded with nothing but patience and kindness. Later on, after most of the lugging was out of the way, I apologised and he simply shrugged his shoulders and offered to make dinner. He made a curry out of the scant ingredients I had in my pantry and we sat down with my brother to eat it. The Little House was far from being in order, but it now had all its component parts and had been blessed by its first shared meal. On Sunday, I dropped my dad off at the airport and went back to the Little House. My Little House - what a thought.
***
Of course, living alone required some adjustment. I left music on for the first few nights; the silence was spooky and I was afraid. But then I became accustomed to the quiet, and looked forward to waking up to the sound of birds going about their early morning business. I developed waking and sleeping routines, went for walks and runs around the surrounding streets, said hello to my neighbours. One pot plant has turned into four, my pantry has grown to rival my mother's, and books - on shelves or in stacks - have taken over a large nook in my living room. My home is full of colour and beauty, but my favourite thing about it is that it is often filled with people.
I don't want my home to be a place in which I shut myself off from the world, but rather one in which I invite the world - in particular, its lovely inhabitants of the human kind - in. Since moving in, I have hosted book club, Christmas dinner, Bible Study, shared meals, movie nights, and TV-watching sessions. My friends come around to drink tea or hot chocolate, help me cut things out (truly), cook, and fold laundry, all while talking until we no longer make sense and collapse into giggles. With heads on cushions or plates on laps, we talk clothes and theology, the state of our heads and of our hearts. I have laughed until my stomach hurt and heaved with sobs. Joy and sorrow live in this house together, and each is enriched by the presence of the other.
***
With each passing day, my prayer for this Little House in Mount Roskill is that God's presence would be deeply felt, His love known and His ways followed. I pray that in some small way, this place would be where God's Kingdom comes and His will is done. That can only come about through the messiness and vulnerability of inviting people in, as they are, and allowing them to see me as I am, even as we mutually nudge each other further in the Way of Jesus.
Lord, make me willing and able to enter into this terrifying process of being known by and knowing others and You. Amen.
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