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While I unpacked the food and kitchen items at four-thirty, the floor began to vibrate. I followed the gut-curdling rumble to the French doors in the living room and discovered - to my horror - the noise came from the residents' cars as each one drove into the parking lot. Though my unit stood two-hundred feet or more from the avenue, the rush hour traffic din likewise penetrated my home. "I can't understand it," I muttered as I stared in disbelief. "Both times I was here, it was dead quiet."
More unpleasant surprises came my way that evening. As I made my bed after supper, loud rock music bore its way through the bedroom wall. "That real estate jerk lied to me," I sputtered as I comprehended the flimsy nature of the condos. "He said the walls were soundproof." I pounded on the wall with my fists, but the neighbour had cranked the volume far too high to notice.
The enormity of my blunder overwhelmed me. Instead of one noisy family, many boisterous residents now surrounded me. Rather than being somewhat insulated by the spaces between houses, I could hear common sounds, such as flushing toilets and closing doors, without effort.
I sat down on my bed and wept. "Lord Jesus," I prayed, then paused. I sensed the same spiritual stiffness I felt in that Portland hotel room three years earlier. "I'm so sorry for turning my back on you. Please forgive me. I've made a huge mess of things with this condo and I'm so sorry. I've squandered Dad's inheritance money and now I don't even have that house anymore. I made a mess of everything. Lord, I give you control of my life again. Please help me out of this condo mess."
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I wrote extensively about that house church in my newly-published memoir, How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity. Please check it out at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Virtual Bookworm.
Isn't it interesting how when you first see a house or apartment you want to buy or rent, everything is good, but once all the paperwork is signed, and you move in, you then find things you didn't notice before. This post reminds me of the time Bill and I moved into our first house together when we were married. When I first went through the house with the landlord, I didn't see the ten-foot high kitchen cabinets neither of us would be able to reach or the claw-foot bath tub with the high sides that even I would have a hard time getting in and out of, but when we moved in, I wondered how in the world I didn't see these things. Since I was desperate to find a house for us to rent, I guess I didn't look thoroughly enough for flaws. Thank goodness we didn't have noisy neighbors.
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