Being a fan of the eccentric, I’ve long been aware of a house in San Jose, California, called the Winchester House. Sarah Winchester was the widow of William Winchester, of Winchester rifle fame and fortune. Legend has it that Sarah was told by some spiritual advisor that she would never achieve peace unless she built a house…and kept building it…forever. For 38 years, until her death, teams of workmen labored on her home, adding over 160 rooms. Through haste or by design, there are some very odd elements in the house: staircases which lead only to the ceiling; windows that look into other rooms instead of outside; and doors which open outside…three stories above the ground.
It’s easy to make fun of this rambling abode. That Mrs. Winchester must have been loony, huh? And then I realize that my house—the temple of God that is my body—has been under construction for even longer than hers. I’m not referring to my physical body, although I’ve been adding considerable square footage around the middle section. I’m referring to my person, my soul, my inner being. When I look back, I can see that I’ve built a few stairs which led nowhere. I’ve opened some doors that were dead ends. And I’ve put a lot of time and money into some areas that turned out to be uninhabitable.
Am I crazy? I’ll leave that up to you. I prefer to think that I’m just a work in progress, constantly changing, growing, remodeling. The part that makes me believe it’s not crazy is this: I’ve got a master Carpenter on full-time retainer. Oh, sometimes he shakes his head and says, “That’s not what should go in that spot.” But he keeps on building and building, stepping back to examine the job and say, “That looks beautiful!” It’s just a rambling, crazy house right now.
But he says he’s gonna build me a mansion next.
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