Changing Faiths

Changing Faiths

     Having shared the honor and pleasure of helping to clean my mother's home, my brother and I have been somewhat surprised at the amount of help that seems to have appeared from afar.  Backing up a bit, the process of clearing out and then selling a home, especially a home that isn't yours, has not been an easy one, and that begins at the supposedly simple step of just finding a realtor.   But where to begin, for the field is both lucrative and attractive; here in the U.S., the commission for using a realtor is usually 6% of the sale price; so as an example, if you were selling a home for $200,000, you as the seller would pay the realtor $12,000 (often that fee is split between the seller's realtor/broker and the buyer's realtor/broker).  The job of the realtor/broker is to show, appraise and advertise the house, as well as guide the seller through the process by attracting and screening potential buyers as well as guide the seller through the hoops, from obtaining needed permits and letting the seller know whether he should leave the house with a few odds and bods or to simply strip it clean (we were told to strip it clean); in many cases, realtors work separately and for brokers who usually run or own the agency itself and have passed the extensive extra exams.   Yet despite the sound of easy money, often the work is harder and more difficult than imagined.  But look in a search and you'll likely find an inordinate amount of realtors listed...so where to even begin?  For my brother and I, other than willy-nilly picking out a realtor from the many ads out there, the process seemed to be to simply do it the old-fashioned way and just ask around, talk to people we trusted and ask their advice, which we did.  And boy did we receive a variety of recommendations, so many that eventually we decided to just "trust our gut" and plunge ahead with a relatively new realtor, one not yet pickled and still somewhat green behind the ears, one who'd been recommended by a woman who ran the bank that my mother went to; besides running the bank, this woman knew my mother well and was also a person with whom I had come to feel comfortable with...and I figured, who can you trust if you can't you trust a banker??

     Ahem, you may be wondering what exactly was I thinking?  Trust a banker?  Weren't these the same people (the bankers) whose companies became "too big to fail" and some years ago took advantage of people via subprime mortgages and almost bankrupted the country and had to be bailed out (depicted so brilliantly in recent film, The Big Short)?  Wasn't this a bit like being sold a lemon of a car by a dealer and the dealer now recommending a good mechanic to fix it?  Well, yes, a bit.  But overriding much of this was just our trusting of our feel for people.  In any field, people are people and hey, we've all been there on the receiving end; sometimes the fact of just working for a company also means being lumped as an individual into a general category of being the company itself and thus sometimes ending up being the person often taking the brunt of both happy and disgruntled customers.  But individual people overall were pretty good as a rule, everyday people who just happened to also work for a company, good or bad, one which had been lumped into an even broader category...oil company, airline, bank, lawyer.   This is all a long-winded version of how I viewed this case, that this banker, this person was just that, a good person.  Certainly, my brother and I could be slotted into more into the passive/less aggressive category and consequently have perhaps shared more than our portion of being taken at times; but beyond making us cautious, it's also made us listen to people and to hold back a bit before making decisions.  In this case, we felt that our banking peson had no real interest in the transaction, telling us right up front that this realtor was just 8 months into the field and had so far sold only a few homes (however, the broker she worked for had been in the business for 30 years).  So I called this realtor, we met and, as they say, I got lucky.  Retired from several jobs (the most recent of which was with over 10 years with the Red Cross), she was now a grandmother whose main belief seemed to be in helping people, people down on their luck or those who couldn't afford much.  I decided to test her in a sense, by bringing in my mother's neighbors, retired themselves and also deeply Christian.  Good people.  They had helped my mother numerous times over the decades, becoming a conduit of sorts when something happened to my mother, running her to the emergency room and waiting with her even if the wait was five hours or more.  So in came the neighbors and the conversations began...and continued, and continued.  Turns out, the realtor had been born and raised in this city (my mother's neighbors were right behind her, having lived here for about 90% of their lives) so local history almost exploded in front of my ears, as did the amount of unselfish giving all of these people expressed (for the most part, I was silent).  All of them still worked with charity groups, donating and purchasing everything from toilet paper to clothing, whatever was needed.  And they both believed in the old adage, ask and ye shall receive.  Here's just one of the realtor's stories: while working with the Red Cross (she had grown their outreach program from 9 to 13 counties), she found the work equal parts gruelling and rewarding.  At one point, when a building the Red Cross had purchased for their local headquarters had to be split (divided in half meaning separating the gas, water and electrical lines for billing purposes), a man unexpectedly called and simply asked, "What can I do to help?"  She had never encountered that before but, being truly exhausted, was straight-forward with him and said that she appreciated the call but all she really needed (and yet couldn't afford in both budget and time) was an electrician.  Thank you for your call, she said, but unless you're an electrician, I'll have to get back with you at a later date.  "I'm an electrician," he said, "retired but still licensed."  He paused, then added, "I'll be right down."  And, as her story goes, he arrived and did the bulk of the work for her, handling everything from sorting and filling out the permits to determining what was materially needed.  Ask and ye shall receive.  With the neighbors both nodding their heads in agreement at the story, I felt as I if I was somewhat of a spectator in a revival meeting.  So listen, the realtor told me upon leaving, if and when you decide to sell the house, and if and when you decide on a realtor, just let me know.  And that was that.  But I knew, and I think she knew, I had already decided.

     Phew, so what has all this got to do with changing faiths?  Well, at that point, the Indiana-Jones style ball began really rolling quickly.  What to do with all of the bulky furniture and a garage full of old tools?  There were outdoor sheds and covered patio areas with storage boxes and garage shelves (we also made the mistake of looking up where even more things had been stacked across the beams).   And no matter how much we worked from early morning until early evening, the house seemed to get no emptier...everything from three old vacuums to desk drawers full of dried up glue sticks to unopened boxes of pens, all enough to fill my car's truck to capacity (again) with recycling.  And the trash alone was piling up (we ordered a dumpster).  In the back of our heads we kept hearing a voice saying, "You're running out of time."  We had five days to finish the job.  But many of the items, even old and dusty, were usable, everything from bookshelves to a hutch, a stereo counsel (the type that had built-in speakers and a record turntable, the one my brother and I had grown up with and to our surprise, still had quite the nice sound) and a marble coffee table with matching end sets...and all of it seemed to weigh much more than our older bodies were designed to handle.  No problem said our realtor, for she worked with several groups that helped men and women trying to start new lives after a series of addictions, and in many cases, these men and women now had nothing, not even a pan or a towel.  Two days later, they (it was a county-run program so they had volunteer staffers who brought their own small trucks) appeared and began hauling things away.  What about this, we asked, pointing to a few boxes of ceramics and some unopened toiletries.  We'll take it, they said.  What about this, pointing to an old set of chairs, a bit dusty and perhaps needing a touch-up of paint; they'll love it, they said.  And on it went.  Whatever we pointed to, they were happy to get, and genuinely so.  It was refreshing.

     My mother's neighbors had arrived a tad earlier and mentioned that they knew of people struggling as well and that these folk could probably use one or two of the old sewing machines my mother had accumulated.  Off those went.  By the way, they said, we know of a mechanic who could probably use those old tools. Hmmm, we wondered, but on they went to tell his story: former gang member, he had gone through his own life ordeal, eventually discovering his penchant for fixing cars.  By age 14, he had fixed 9 of 13 "unstartable" cars in a shop.  The owner took him in and helped to change his life.  Now married and with three children, he continues to work full time as a mechanic but also has his own shop on the side, fixing cars for those who can't afford to pay much or to pay at all.  He also makes up mini-tools kits to get other kids interested, showing them the ropes and getting them on their way...our dad's old tools would be put to good use, he said, even the old wrenches and screwdrivers.  And off they went.  What about this?  I'll take it.  What about this?  Perfect, he'd say.

     Along came the men to check the septic system (an inspection is required before selling a home in California), an education in itself if you've never seen the natural drainage-type system opened and being visually shown how it all works.  When they saw our pile of old paints and lawn products and such, all of which was headed for the hazardous waste disposal site, they said that their church could likely use much of the stuff, and what they couldn't use, they would then take over to the disposal facility.  What about this, we'd say, pointing to old fishing lures and lines; sure, somebody can use it.  And this?  No problem, throw it on the pile.

     All in all, all of the people were surprised that we would give them so many things (we kept our mother informed, although while she was realizing that it was the logical thing to do, it was difficult to part ways with items that were such a part of her life); but my bother and I were also surprised (pleasantly so) to find so many people wanting to help others.  None of these people had a lot themselves, but they (as with my brother and I) felt that what they did indeed have, was plenty and now was the time for them to help those who had less.  An old set of sheets and blankets? (no holes or anything, just well used)...well, when you don't have those things, just getting a complete set is a gift.  And so it went, from pens and pencils to picture frames and handbags.  And it was right at this time that I began to quit for the day and return to reading (the remaining television and such were long gone, our "news" coming from the one remaining box radio that sat on the floor, set to a timer and a news station, the vocal "deterrent" to fake potential burglars away when they heard conversation inside, an old trick that likely was fooling us more than the burglars)...and read a piece by Garry Wills and heard terms such as "suras" and "Iblis."  Ever heard of them?  Such terms are well-known to nearly a quarter of the world's population.  They are words from the Koran...both his (Garry Wills') and my thoughts, coming in the next post.