Real estate is expensive.
A plot of undeveloped land, a parcel of floodplain, a mountainside you can’t even reach by road, all these will still set you back several thousand dollars.
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A trailer, a camper or boat, a shack on a hill. A little more…
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A modest house in the suburbs, a small, old home on a few acres, an apartment in town, these cost even more.
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A tiny home in town, to call all your own, or a McMansion in a subdivision with just a patch of grass… we’re getting up there, now.
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A fancy apartment in a city, a big house on the lake. A nice getaway from the hustle and grind. A seaside cottage, a perfectly appointed five bedroom showplace of a home. Hope you’ve got a good job or a rich uncle.
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All these can be destroyed, no matter if they’re made of brick or concrete or wood. Wind, fire, flooding, overall devastation. You can try to protect them, investing in fancy security systems and strong fences. Heavy gates that lock by password protection. You can try, and you might succeed, from being a victim of theft. Mother nature doesn’t recognize the precautions, but you may do some good against humans who intend to bring destruction. You protect the valuable things in your life with locks and keys and codes.
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But the most expensive real estate you cannot dwell in. You cannot invite your friends over to watch the game and eat pizza on your couch.
You can’t clean muddy paw prints from the floor, you can’t even lock the door. It cannot be destroyed by flooding, fire, earthquakes, or bulldozers.
The most expensive piece of real estate you own is your heart.
And you give it away.
Sometimes the person you give it to cherishes it, nurtures it, keeps it close to their own.
Sometimes the person squeezes it to make sure the love is real.
Sometimes the person disregards it, throws it out when something better comes along. Maybe they don’t even wait that long.
But we’re called to love, and that’s what we do, because our hearts don’t have gates to protect us. There are no fences. There is no password. People just stroll right on in, uninvited.
And when you lose a piece of your heart, it takes longer to rebuild than Roman roads. The grass won’t grow, the flowers don’t blossom. The soil is all but sterile.
For awhile.
But it will rain.
It will rain for a long time.

Rain brings renewal and healing.
And while it rains, seeds prepare themselves to burst open and strive to break ground. They’ve lain dormant for a long time. But now it’s time to soak up the sun’s warmth, to put down roots. It’s time to grow a few glossy leaves.
And after awhile, maybe several seasons, you’re ready to rebuild.
And you think you’ll be more careful with this fractured real estate. It’s prone to breaking in two. You’ve seen it shattered. You’ve nurtured it back with friends who helped you toil.
But the truth is, you have no say in the matter.
Build your fortress, but moats will be crossed and the drawbridge will be lowered. And hopefully the next tenant will be thankful for his warm, loving home.