The Flog – The Fabry Log

Words are powerful things. They shape our lives. They get us in trouble.

“We have to leave our house.” I remember those words from my wife, spoken in October, 2008. Those words changed our lives.

“You have mycotoxicosis,” our doctor said. He showed us through blood tests and the examination that we were severely affected by the mold in our house, and that our children would be affected for years to come, maybe for life.

And yesterday I heard some other words.

May 28th, one day before foreclosure proceedings began on our home, the final page in that chapter was written. We had signed papers earlier in the week and overnighted them to the closing agent. She emailed me yesterday to say everything was disbursed. Our house had been sold.

My next-door neighbor emailed and said that the dumpsters were already there. All of our stuff was being removed and thrown into the dust-bin of history. Furniture cut in pieces so people wouldn’t dumpster dive. Signs outside that said “Contaminated.” My beloved books with all those words I had read, everything from Pat Conroy to my first King James Bible. Writing books I treasured. Christmas ornaments for the kids. Yearbooks, a letter from Ronald Reagan, a fax I had kept from Jerry Jenkins, encouraging me to keep writing. All of it boxed up and tossed.

Something nagged at me. On the 29th, foreclosure was to begin. The closing agent said she was going to Fed-Ex payment. I wrote her quickly and explained. She said she would wire the funds instead, but that she had no idea how long it would take to get the funds. That sent me on a frantic search for phone numbers, hoping I could reach the right person at the mortgage company. I was on hold 27 minutes before getting cut off for the third time. It felt like something was against me. We’ve felt that feeling a lot this week.

I did the radio program and quickly called the mortgage company. You have to work your way through the phone tree in order to speak with a human. You give your account number. You state that you are not an agent calling on behalf of a customer. Etc. Etc. But this time was different. Instead of asking what I wanted to do, make a payment, see if my payment had been received, or any of the other ten things they listed, the digitized phone voice said, “Your account has been paid in full.”

Paid in full. Such wonderful words. Sure, we’d lost everything in the house. Sure we’d lost our huge downpayment—more than 25% of the home’s purchase price. (Don’t ask me why I put down that much. I actually wanted to put down more.) Sure, we’d lost our equity. But we’d saved our credit. We weren’t going to go through foreclosure and the legal hassles and the potential to have to pay even more.

Sadness mixed with elation. We’ll never go back to “our home” again. It’s someone else’s now. But that piece of our lives, that ten-year odyssey of struggle and illness and despair is over.

The phrase, “Paid in full,” kept returning. On the cross, when Jesus spoke his last words, he said that. We translate it, “It is finished.” But the word he spoke means “Paid in full.” He was paying there, in that awful scene, for everything I’ve ever done wrong. He was covering not just a downpayment on my sin, but the whole thing. That payment and our acceptance of the gift assures us that we’ll one day live in a place where moth, rust, mold and anything else that can mar a dwelling will never thrive. That blood spilled means I have freedom from everything that might separate me from the one who loved me enough to die for me.

We went out to eat last night in celebration. We’ve found one restaurant where we can eat without fear of reacting to the food. We sat around metal tables outside in the blistering heat and talked and laughed. Then we drove to a park and walked around a pond, watching the ducks and the dogs. It made me miss our pets. Then, as we always did when the kids finished their school year, we went to a bookstore and the kids each picked out something to start their summer reading regimen.

It had a ring of familiarity to me. Something old happening in a new place. Something good coming from a long trail of bad. All because of a few words said on a phone call that echoed what was spoken long ago. Paid in full.


Thank you for walking this road with us. If you’ve prayed for us, thank you. We’ve felt it the past few weeks. We’re not healed yet, but we’re moving in the right direction. We have three months left on our current lease and then we may have to move again. There are many issues that now have to be addressed with the business. But I’m confident we’re where God wants us to be. And there’s no better place on earth than that.