Generator

When the generator fires up and begins its incessant rumble, you know it is time to work.

The first sounds crank through the neighborhood in a startling manner. They tend to drown out the cacophony of daily life: kids playing soccer in the streets; the occasional propane of fruit sellers slowly winding the dusty roads, advertising over their roof-mounted speakers (“se vende, se vende, saboya, tomate, chile…”); the low beats of a distant radio. The only noises that rise above it all are the sounds of the Skil and chop saws and the staccato banging of multiple hammers. We are here to build a house, after all.

Not just any house, for any reason: We are building this house, in large part, in memory of our daughter Olivia. When it’s finished and we hand over the keys to the family who’ll live here, our hearts will break again

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By Grace, you move forward. You hold what is lost as precious in your heart while you give what you can to those around you.

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in longing for Olivia. While we are so blessed to give this precious family a safe and clean home, we wish it was for a different reason. We wish we were building with her, not for her.

We wish this more than anything.

But the generator is running and all these random boards and nails and shingles need to be assembled. It must be painted and finished out, the new furniture assembled.

That’s what you do after all, isn’t it? By Grace, you move forward. You hold what is lost as precious in your heart while you give what you can to those around you.

You crank the generator, pick up a hammer and start to build.