The Ruined House

In one of the gloomy, outskirts districts Where decent folk would never go, A half-destroyed house served as a den, Among the townspeople it was cursed.

There drug addicts would often gather, Brewing their "potion" over candles' flame, Instead of beds were heaps of junk, Syringes, cigarette butts, mold, rotting floor.

Insects and rats everywhere. In the empty eye-sockets of windows—darkness. The roof leaked everywhere and constantly, And foul filth lay all around.

That house had witnessed many perversions, The walls and floor had soaked in sin... Memories of old crimes, Like phantoms sometimes surfaced in it.

One day a group of drunken youth Were hiding there from people's sight, Hoping no one would disturb them there, When they heard the creaking of the gate.

A respectable man stood by the house, Surveying with his eyes the walls, the yard... He walked beneath the windows, something He hurriedly jotted in his notebook.

In his face determination showed: "Yes, finally, no doubt remains: I will purchase this house for myself..." And he departed, leaving a trail in the grass.

The adolescents looked at each other, And twirled their fingers at their temples. One would have to be truly insane, indeed, To give even a ruble for this trash.

But that gentleman soon appeared again, Walking confidently to the entrance, And held a document the lawyers had written With a notary's signature upon it.

In his other hand—a bulky bag, Rotten boards creaking underfoot. Suddenly one board cracked sharply, And a nail pierced his foot, causing pain.

But that man did not stop, Wincing, he stepped forward once more, As though blood weren't seeping from the wound, Staining his trousers with a crimson stream.

In the foul-smelling corridor for a moment He paused and bound his wound. The whole thing looked like a very strange joke, But now the man took out the bags.

And began collecting the rotted refuse, Not at all disturbed by the filth. He quietly repeated: "I need this house. May God give me strength not to turn back."

Upon the windowsill lay a paper: A deed of sale and purchase of the house, On it, besides the former owner's signature, Now a bloody trace was imprinted:

"I purchase in eternal ownership This ruined, cursed, dilapidated house. I have made an unchangeable decision, I will settle here and make my home.

I see the entire process of restoration, How I will change its rotting floor, And, cleaning all the mold, the walls again Will be covered with white plaster.

No parasites will live in it, And the windows will shine with cleanliness. I see a garden twined with wisteria, Flowers on the windowsill, a lawn..."

This is the plan, but there is still much Dirty work the owner must complete. And this is only the beginning... But into this house he came to live.

And with his blood he sealed the deed, He owns this house eternally, No one will ever be able to contest it, The house was bought at a very costly price.

For now a sign still hangs upon it: "Restoration work is underway." You ask: "What concern is this house to you personally?" And I will now give you my answer:

You and I—we are ruined walls... Once sin worked very hard upon us. We simply cannot live without God, We perish, we are lost, we all succumb.

Our mind became a den for eloquent thoughts, We tried to fill the void with garbage... Criminals, traitors, the envious— We sowed deception and slander.

And we were enemies to Jesus, We shattered our lives with sin, And our heart—a stone with an unbearable weight, We could never have become better!

But He came to the ruined buildings, And He said: "Now I will dwell here. There is a plan, from the world's beginning, How to restore all these buildings for Me."

And the deed signed with spilled Blood Was signed there on the cross by Christ, And He covered our nakedness with love, And He is restoring my shattered house.

In all of us now this work goes on: Some have their floor or ceiling changed, And perhaps for others, while they're collecting trash, The Lord fills up enormous bags.

And we, my friends, understanding this (That there are many holes in each of us), Must be open to meet the Light, So He may illuminate every corner.

And each of us must remember well That near us are "dilapidated houses," And when we once perceive their ruin, We shall never judge others again.