Living Today What makes a house a home BY GREG EUBANKS Anyone who has ever tried to sell a house understands the energy consumed by efforts to keep said house "tidy" and "presentable." It seems to be an insurmountable task. Homes with children, by definition, are not clean! They are sticky and soiled and littered with Kleenex, Hot Wheels, shoes, clothing of both clean and dirty varieties, and schoolbooks. Homes without children, for that matter are just as bad. Keeping a house presentable for "showing" is a constant task. Just when you have cleaned up, along comes another child or adult or pet or guest behind you who will track in dirt and leaves, or un-fluff your pillows, or leave a dirty dish, or drop an occasional tissue. Life is untidy. It requires getting things out, moving them around and dirtying them up. A house is undisturbed. A home is alive with activity, and such activity is not contained in a tidy package. A home overflows with the lives of its family, spilling over and leaving a stain or two. The alternative is to present as reality the idea that we are unfazed by the events of our lives and the people therein. How ludicrous that one could be unmoved from center by neither sorrow nor delight. Proclaiming such a life is unfortunate, yet common. Many of us try to live in figurative houses of stone, marble, and glass. The result is an unmoving psyche resistant to the pulls of relational bonds. A life well lived is strengthened by laughter, songs, and joy. It is also scarred by the tears and scrapes and bruises and rejections experienced when risks are taken. Such a life is held together by compassion and encouragement given in hard times as well as fulfillment, which follows triumph. The walls of a house are pristine and cold and hard. The walls of a home are marked by the memory of its occupants. They have stories to tell, both heartbreaking and inspirational. How refreshing it would be for a potential "buyer" to tour a home scarred by its occupants, left bare to expose its history. It would definitely present a different view than the usual procession of houses for sale, in all of their ‘first date’ attractiveness and secrecy. In life, we strive to become houses and keep reality at bay. Being genuine is frightening. Houses have neat and organized closets; our homes have closets with skeletons. Who wants to explore those closets, much less invite others along? The thing is, we live with those skeletons and see those closets every day. If we don’t invite others in, it gets very lonely. So we must welcome others into our life, past the entryway and formal rooms to the den where all the clutter is. We all know the tricks of selling a house. When buyers are coming to inspect we shift into high gear, frantically hiding the mess under the bed, in the washer and dryer, and frequently the dishwasher as well. However, here’s the one catch: no one wants to buy a museum. Buyers, I’m told, will try to picture their family living in this home. They are looking for that intangible ‘lived-in look.’ It is a plea for transparency. Mine is a call to authenticity in relationships, creating a home where a house once stood.