Unpainted House

When John Grisham's book "The Painted House" hit the book stores, I grabbed a copy and was immediately immersed in its contents.  It was most fascinating reading for me because so much of what he wrote paralleled my own life.  I was raised in a poor environment and I did not know that an unpainted house was indicative of poverty. I cannot remember my parents ever complaining about being poor.  Maybe they did and I just didn't hear it.  But in spite of our financial shortages, we ate pretty well, the house was warm and the kids enjoyed one another.  We played games until it was too dark to play (we did not have T.V. until later) and just simply enjoyed being alive.

Poverty is not so much a state of being, but a state of mind.  We knew we
did not have as much as others, but that is not poverty, it is simply not having as much as others. Today, that house is no longer unpainted.  I return to that little house in Walla Walla and reflect on the times we had there.  We do not reflect on what we did not have, only on what we had.  The memories are pleasant and the visits are all to few.  God blessed us and I thank Him for such warm thoughts of an unpainted house. Come see us Sunday.