I\u2019ve had a parade of wonderful guests at the Honey House\u2014my turn-of-the-century bed-and-breakfast\u2014but my granddaughter would always be the most important. In fall 2004, seven-year-old Shelby came to live with us while her father\u2019s unit was in Iraq. We became fast friends, lounging outside, hidden in our grove of palm trees, reading about Winnie the Pooh\u2019s adventures in the 100 Acre Wood.<\/p>\n
It was a frightening time. You couldn\u2019t turn on the news without hearing about record numbers of US fatalities, and my son was on the front lines with the First Cavalry! I could see the worry in Shelby\u2019s eyes that first day she walked in the door\u2014even though she put up a brave front just like me. I knew she would be afraid sometimes. Especially in the middle of the night. If only I could think of something that might comfort her when I\u2019m not there, I thought as I carried her suitcase inside. Then it hit me: Shelby could sleep in the Angel Room!<\/p>\n
After all, it had already ushered the original owner\u2019s six children into the world as a birthing room and after that a nursery. The Angel Room had been home to childhood wonder from the beginning. There was a sense of peace and goodness in it, like angels had been stationed there. At least that\u2019s what our guests told me.<\/p>\n
When I first stepped into the room it was a disaster, just like the rest of the house. But all it needed was a few collectibles, new wallpaper and a good scrubbing to make it heavenly again. Soon guests were requesting the Angel Room and friends were sending me more angels. \u201cThis is a very special room,\u201d I told Shelby as I set the suitcase down inside the door. \u201cSo special angels want to share it too.\u201d Shelby looked around with wide eyes. Lord, let her feel safe here, I thought.<\/p>\n
Shelby had slept in the room for a couple weeks when I got a call from her second-grade teacher. \u201cToday we read Monsters Under the Bed,\u201d she started. I hoped Shelby hadn\u2019t been frightened. \u201cI asked the children if any of them had monsters under their beds,\u201d the teacher went on. \u201cShelby raised her hand. \u2018I don\u2019t have monsters under my bed,\u2019 she said. \u2018I have angels.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n
I hung up the phone confident that Shelby had found the angels of Honey House. The same angels that led me to the place years ago. What other explanation could there be for why a middle-aged couple would buy a house desperately in need of condemnation with the idea of turning it into a bed-and-breakfast?<\/p>\n
We moved to Phoenix from Texas in late 1989 for my husband Larry\u2019s job. We were renting a house. The moving boxes had long been unpacked. Life was pretty much back to normal.<\/p>\n
Then a friend called: \u201cYou\u2019ve got to see this house.\u201d At first I couldn\u2019t find it through the tangle of trees, weeds and vines. Then I spied something\u2014something that had once resembled a house. It looked like it still had its original paint job, circa 1895. And the place seemed to sag in all different directions. \u201cIs that it?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cOmigosh, no. Don\u2019t look at the house,\u201d my friend said. \u201cLook at what it could be. Imagine a lush pathway leading up to your beautiful, historic dream house.\u201d<\/p>\n
I took another glance at the tangle of weeds and decaying siding, squinting to see this alleged beauty. I can\u2019t really explain it, but I fell in love.<\/p>\n
It was our accountant who suggested we turn it into a bed-and-breakfast. \u201cYou\u2019ll be putting money into that house with both fists,\u201d she said. \u201cYou\u2019ll need the tax break.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s a bed-and-breakfast?\u201d Larry had asked. Not exactly a question to inspire confidence.<\/p>\n
Nevertheless, we moved into the house in February 1991. Larry and I hacked through weeds with machetes just to get to the front door. By summer I was cursing the day I\u2019d ever imagined that pathway. One July day in particular the temperature soared past 110 degrees. I sat in a small patch of grass I\u2019d cleared, looking at the jungle of weeds around me. Was it tears or sweat falling from my face? Every day I had chopped vines or scraped moldy wallpaper or scrubbed grime from the floors. But it seemed as if I\u2019d gotten nowhere. We were pouring our retirement money into this pit with no end in sight. What were we doing here?<\/p>\n
I thought about the Grant family that had built the house. They had moved to Arizona from Utah in a wagon. Like me, they had set out on a journey in faith, not knowing what the future would bring. For their first several years they had lived in a tent. They persevered through trials much rougher than mine, and the result had been this jewel of a house\u2014if I could ever find it. Maybe the angels who helped the Grants would help us too.<\/p>\n
I picked up the machete and began hacking some more weeds. And the next day I did some more. Finally, as fall arrived, signs of the grande dame\u2019s former beauty began to show, and Larry and I\u2014still not really knowing what we were doing\u2014opened the Honey House for business.<\/p>\n
Every fall, with its memories of that first crazy opening weekend, is a special season for me. But with Shelby\u2019s extended visit more than a dozen years later, she and I were determined to create our own fall memories. One night we left the dining room and for an after-dinner stroll walked through the gardens.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat kind of tree is that?\u201d Shelby asked, craning her neck to see the upper branches.<\/p>\n
\u201cEucalyptus,\u201d I said. \u201cAnd that one with the bees is a carob tree.\u201d<\/p>\n
From a distance we watched the bees busily flying in and out of their hive. Somehow they always reminded me of angels. Both, after all, have the never-ending job of tending to God\u2019s creation. I told Shelby that Mr. Grant had become an avid beekeeper in his years at Honey House. He even taught beekeeping and the principles of pollination to area farmers. At one time the property was home to more than 5,000 hives. That\u2019s why we called our B and B the Honey House.<\/p>\n
As I tucked Shelby into bed that night I looked around the Angel Room and thought about how far Larry and I had come. Every day God gave us the chance to touch a stranger\u2019s life, and every day the joy I receive in return far exceeds anything I can offer.<\/p>\n
Now I could share that joy with my granddaughter. Honey House had become a successful bed-and-breakfast. But when Shelby moved in it became something more: a home to a little girl when she needed it most.<\/p>\n
By the next fall, when Shelby\u2019s dad returned from Iraq to pick her up, I couldn\u2019t believe a whole year had passed. Soon a string of new guests would be staying in the Angel Room. They would move in and out, much like the swarm of bees at the hive, all of them angels, and all of them welcome at the Honey House.<\/p>\n