My House

When I was twenty, I lived in Astoria, Oregon.  I was involved in an abusive relationship, and back then, there was nowhere to turn for support.  I eventually walked away, enrolled in college, and got a degree. 

In my late twenties, I was working in Seattle and life was pretty sweet. I missed Astoria though, so I bought a 1905 salt-box style fixer-upper house there with the idea of making it a vacation/retirement home.  The progress was slow, but with the help of friends and family, it started taking shape. Three years into the project, however, my dreams were shattered.  

When I drove down to work on the house, I discovered it had been broken into and vandalized. Everything was taken, but worst of all, the classic old features of the house were trashed.  The little pantry window panes were smashed; the beveled mirror above the fireplace was broken; the pillars supporting the mantle were ripped out and even the stair case banister had the rungs knocked out.  My heart ached.  There would be no reason in the world to continue to fix up the house, as those were the exact features I’d fallen in love with in the first place.

My favorite promise in the Bible is “All things work together for good to those who love God and are called according to His purpose...”. There was not a thing that had happened to me, including the abuse, that I couldn’t say eventually worked out “for good.”  

I cried big tears, though.  What good could possibly come from this?  Many thoughts raced through my mind.  How could someone do this? Then the words came: “Call the Women’s Crisis Center and give them your house.”  It made no sense, since I knew there wasn’t a Women’s Crisis Center, but I walked to the nearest phone booth, and to my surprise, there was one listed.  I called their number.

Later that night I met with the director and explained what had happened.  I told her if she wanted the house ‘as-is,’ she could have it as a safe place for women and children.  I assured her I’d continue to make the payments. She was speechless.

An article appeared on the front page of the local newspaper, about this “battered house for battered women,” and volunteers rushed in to help fix it up.

When the house was ready to be occupied, household donations flooded in.  They had such excess they opened a thrift store in town to sell the abundance.  That store now provides work experience for women living in the house. The Crisis Center is going strong.

Years later, I got teary eyed when I had lunch with the director.  She said when I made that initial call in 1987, she had been hired on for three months just to close down the books because the community support wasn’t enough to keep even the phone line open. They were $16 overdrawn and several hundred dollars in debt.  She was three weeks away from turning off the phone. Then I called and everything changed.  

That beat up old house was a seed that got planted and grew into what it is today.  Now with a comfortable operating budget, Clatsop County Women’s Resource Center is a place where women find comfort, practical help and a new life.   

I was embarrassed I ever doubted God’s promise that, “All things work together for good.”