PB and I lived in this house when we were newlyweds.

To be more precise, we lived in a tiny one-bedroom apartment in the second story of this house. Every evening, I walked in through the massive wooden doors and climbed the sweeping staircase, just like the well-to-do lumberman’s daughter did when it was built in 1893.

One hundred years later, the house began to show signs of wear. It was put on the market for $1 with the contingency that it be moved, because the YMCA wanted the space for a parking lot.

A lovely, ambitious couple scooped it up and began a long journey of de-construction and re-construction. They took the house apart, piece by piece, labeling each board and foundation stone.

It was a massive undertaking.

In order to restore the home’s original glory,
they had to go through the painful process of de-construction.
It was hard work.
It took a long time.
It wasn’t glorious.

They were left with a shed full of bits and pieces—not a pretty sight.

This is what de-construction looks like.

Eventually, the house was restored and life returned.
Once more, people walked through the majestic doors
and ascended the stunning staircase.

While de-construction was necessary,
it was never meant to be the final word.
The pieces were never meant to be left
in a pile in a barn forever.
Each piece was numbered.
Re-construction was always the end goal.

This is what re-construction looks like.

There is a time to tear down and a time to build.
Ecclesiastes 3:3