We live in a fabulous home! It's been such a blessing in our young married lives to have the opportunity to live in my husband's grandpa's unoccupied home. This house is one of the neatest places I've lived in since I left home. I just love it! It has lots of character and history; such a wonderful story to tell those who will take the time to stop and listen. There are pictures of generations before us hanging on the walls & adorning the mantle. The antique furniture has hosted many a family gathering and the wood trim has heard much laughter and supported a few tears.
Lately though, all of the love that I have for these vintage walls hasn't been able to keep joy/contentment in this Exton household, especially not in this female mind. When I have bad days, I so want to chalk it up to living in a borrowed home, stating that my soul is stuck in 'unrest' because I want to be free to nest, I long for beautifully decorated bedrooms and a kitchen with countertops (and a dishwasher), I can almost see then day when we slip off our robes and climb into the giant cozy king bed... Oh, I'm getting carried away in my dreams again!
A conversation about bringing home a new baby or hearing about new curtains another girlfriend bought always comes right before "the look..." You might not know the one I'm talking about, but it's always followed with a "you've got to get out of that house!" My sin snickers as my thoughts agree. "Why AM I still in this ancient house?" I wallow in it for a little bit and I may even stir up a fight because my needs are not being met and why should I have to suffer this way.
Then something happens. I see the picture of my grandparents dancing together next to the sewing of unfinished projects. The Magic Chef oven assists in yet another baking project and thoughts of Grandma Koch run through my mind. As I'm walking down the stairs with a load of laundry, the basket hits the drapes, knocks off a piece of the plastic curtain rod and we belly laugh as George plays with it.
I realize that 'paint the walls red' girl is still there, waiting to be let lose on her own house, but I do not want to lose site of the the lessons learned since we've been here. I treasure the conversations I have with God while doing the dishes (and staring at the catholic church next to us). I want to always remember the dinners we've had, both bad (made by me) and FAB-U-LOUS (made be 'the chef'), and the laughs we've shared in our little breakfast nook. The walks we take in the evenings. The neighbors we've met. The St. Catherine's festivals we've survived. The feeling of being "just the three of us in this old house."
So, when I next see "the look" I pray that I can remember I'm right where God wants me, living out His will for my life, and nothing could be better.