Six pages. That's how long the report from our insurance company ran after the storm came through and worked over our house.

I've picked up a whole new vocabulary: RC, which used to just be the soda I drank as a kid, now stands for Replacement Cost. ACV is Actual Cash Value. And "recoverable depreciation" is the money they hold back until you prove you actually did the work. I've learned that my insurance company's feelings about my house are not the same as my feelings about my house.

Here's what they don't know about my roof, and can't place a value on:

I was doing a wedding at the church years back, and the best man was overcome with nerves. I mean overcome. He couldn't stand up for his best friend, despite wanting to. I invited him to step outside and get some fresh air. Outside, I asked him about himself. "I'm a roofer," he said. "I also do general handyman work, but mostly I do roofs." He was looking up at the church roof and commented that it looked pretty good from the sidewalk, and guessed it wasn't very old. He was right. It had been redone only two years prior. We walked down the sidewalk and looked at the roofs on the next two houses, and he gave his assessment. The third roof down, he mentioned that it needed some work, and pointed out a couple of places that weren't done correctly. This happened to be my house. I asked him if he'd be willing to come out the following week and give us an estimate, which he was pleased to do. As we turned and walked back towards the church, I told him how important his work was to so many people, and how genuinely appreciative I was of his time and expertise. Once we got back to the church, he was ready to stand up for his best friend on his biggest day.

Our siding has a story, too.

They see old aluminum siding that people don't use anymore. I see a crucible where faith carried me through my fears. I purchased the house before I met my husband. The siding was in fantastic condition, but unsightly. (They don't make things the way they used to, right?) I was on a tight budget, so I decided to paint it. I had helped my parents paint houses when I was a child, and knew I could do it, and I knew they would provide any know-how I lacked. I needed an extension ladder to reach the peak atop the attic over the second story. I've not been afraid of heights, but ascending that ladder holding a bucket of paint in one hand and a paintbrush in the other was a different story altogether. I memorized the 23rd Psalm and recited it over and over while I was up there. A neighbor took pity on me and did the peak on the other side for me. (God bless him!) My parents were proud of me. I am grateful beyond words for my husband, who has climbed all the ladders and done all things maintenance since. (He's so dreamy!)

None of that shows up on a six-page report. The company sees old aluminum siding nobody uses anymore. I see a psalm memorized forty feet in the air. They see a composition roof discounted for its age. I see a man who found his footing in time to stand for his friend. A house can hold more value than the actual cash kind; it can hold what it took to keep it standing.

I wish the company could see what I see. There's no line for it, and there never will be. And despite my frustrations, I'm very grateful for them. After the storm, we could be left to rebuild alone, with nothing but our own resources. We aren't. Someone shows up with a check. And years before that, someone else showed up scared outside a wedding, and turned out to be exactly who we needed on the sidewalk that day. A neighbor stepped in and will never know the depth of my gratitude.

My wish for you this week, Reader, is that when the reports and reckonings come, the ones that only measure what can be measured, you remember what they leave out.

The version of you that climbed the ladder anyway.
The person who showed up for someone outside a door they were afraid to walk through.
The ones who choose to walk through life with you.

None of that depreciates. That's the fiLLLed life.

Live a fiLLLed life, Melissa