An Essay On Transformation: Part One

I remember very clearly one Saturday morning when my then-boyfriend, now husband, looked at me and casually suggested that we run to the hardware store to rent a jackhammer. 

“A jackhammer?” I replied, “For what??,” I asked, unsure what on earth we would need one of those for.

“I’m going to break up the front sidewalk and the stoop,” he replied, as calmly as if he had just told me he was going to pick daisies.

“You're what?” 

“Well, if we’re going to put a new front porch on the house, we need to break up the stoop and the front sidewalk,” he explained. 

We had been discussing ideas for a new porch for the front of the house, and I was in love with the idea of a place to sit and relax together, to say nothing of the additional curb appeal. I love a good front porch; who doesn’t? 

What I hadn’t thought about was what it would take to create space for and build a front porch. In particular, taking out some old flower beds and curbing near the front of the house, clearing the area where the porch would be built, and, not least importantly, busting up and hauling away an old concrete stoop and front sidewalk.

With a fair amount of trepidation in my heart and a sprinkle of “well, okay, I guess we’re doing this,” we hopped in the truck and made our way to the hardware store to rent a jackhammer. A few short hours later, the front sidewalk and stoop were gone, and in their place, a trench of dust and concrete blanketed the newly uncovered dirt.

I remember thinking to myself well, there’s no turning back now.

Staring at the rubble, I had no idea how we could go from a pile of busted-up concrete to a beautiful front porch, but with no “undo” button, there was only the road ahead.

Then, I watched as something miraculous happened. 

One day there were footings for the posts. Another day there was framing. Along came flooring, soffit, fascia, electric, skirting, paint, and stain. Slowly but steadily, I watched a new front porch come to life before my eyes; one nail, one screw, one piece of lumber at a time (and it did take time). 

As I witnessed the unfolding of this transformation, I realized one day that it was difficult to remember the trench of dust or pile of concrete in the face of the change I could see all around me. The reality in front of me stood in sharp contrast to where we had begun, and with each step in the process, I walked into where we were now rather than where we had been. 

Years later, and with many house projects behind us, not only have I learned to trust my husband’s vision and ability to see a project through, but I’ve come to more willingly embrace the process of change and transformation. 

Transformation isn’t easy. It is often a long, messy, unruly process. At times, it can feel overwhelming and frustrating. 

The same is true for personal transformation.

This year has been a year of tremendous change and transformation in the life of our little family – physically, emotionally, in our home, you name it – and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel like a daily upheaval.

There is a very real clearing out of how things have been to make space for how things will be. Comfort zones? We haven’t seen those in a while. 

At times I can feel myself experiencing the same anxieties and overwhelming feelings that I felt looking at a busted-up old stoop. Unsure of what the next step would look like, but knowing that the only way through was forward.

We adopted a phrase during one of our projects, standing in the Summer sun as we built a shed for storage. When we reached a milestone in its construction, we found ourselves saying,

“That was probably the most important step.”

Another set of wall supports constructed?
Probably the most important step.
Hanging doors?
Probably the most important step.
Flooring? Windows? Roof?
Probably the most important step.

Today, no matter how big or small the project we’re working on together is, it never fails that one of us will turn to the other and declare whatever part of the project we’ve just completed the most important step. 

As we stood back, looking at the completed shed, it was difficult to pinpoint a single most important step. I’ve come to learn that, in fact, the most important step was starting. Choosing to begin. Being willing to undertake the project in the first place, much like being willing to rent a jackhammer and demolish old concrete, is the most important step.

I could, with little discomfort, allow myself to remain as the stoop. I could leave the jackhammer safely in the tool rental center. I could avoid the mess and discomfort - and exhaustion, frankly - of radical transformation. But what tragedy there would be in missing rain storms, sunsets, and summer shade under the cover of the newly hewn front porch of my life. 

When weighing out the cost of transformation, the most crucial point for me to consider is what I would be giving up to remain as I am today. Am I willing to walk through the mess for the outcome?

As for now? I still don’t know all the change that lies ahead. I know there will be challenges and difficulties. Human as I am, I know I will meet them imperfectly. But, I’ve decided to begin. Or continue, rather, and I welcome the process of change. 

Let me be radically transformed. 
Let me be stretched, pulled, knocked down, reformed, refined, and rebuilt. 
Let my heart be cleared out and made new.
The only way through is moving forward.
And that’s probably the most important step.