Day 9-It's Not Much, But It's Home

I remember, when I was younger, going to homes now and then that I would have said had an "eclectic" taste. Mismatched furniture and decor. Well worn. Well lived in. Yet I never came away thinking they needed a make-over. In fact, I often enjoyed the homey quality. The families all seemed happy, however different their lifestyle may have been from the perfection of Southern Living or Pottery Barn.

Now I live in one of those homes. Watermarks on the buffet. Hand-me-down, used or scratch-and-dent furniture. Nothing considered a "set." Nicks in my bookshelf. Etchings in the dining table. Crayon and pencil drawings on the walls that could probably use a new coat of paint. Forget that we haven't even finished painting some halls and rooms for the first time! A hole in our bedroom window, stuffed with an old white undershirt. Scratched and worn wooden floors.

And I love our home. I've written about it before. It IS old. It IS homey. It IS beautiful to me in all of the life that it holds day in and day out and displays in the very fabric of its structure. But, I admit, sometimes I believe the lie that festers within. The lie that I deserve better, need more. The lie that breeds ingratitude and discontent.

I admiringly surveyed my newly-married sister's home recently and struggled not to envy it's pristine appearance and gorgeous decor. I am extremely happy for her and appreciative of her excellent taste. So why, even in the midst of my joy on her behalf, is it so easy to believe the lie?

Back in Philippians 4, Paul says, "I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want." He learned, through continual thanksgiving, to be content in all circumstances.

Once again, God does not qualify his statements. I either have or don't have. The quality of those provisions is never a matter of consideration. I don't get to complain because my curtains aren't as pretty as someone else's. It might be nice, but it is not a requirement for a happy home. I am not in want or in need. The reality is that I truly have plenty, plenty to be thankful for!

I have floors worn by the tread of many precious feet. I have walls marked by busy, curious, energetic little hands. I have furniture that holds our possessions and our bodies. I have a house that is loved and lived in. I'm reminded of Ron Weasley's humble comments when he brings Harry to their household for the first time, "It's not much. But it's home."

I would offer one caveat. It IS much. And I want to be mindful to give thanks for it, so I too may learn to be content!

201) the rounded belly of my baby boy, full with milk
202) the act of rolling over, another milestone
203) the spacious dining table, large enough for friends and family
204) the hugs shared between the older brothers and their younger siblings before school
205) the hammer-wielding three year old "fixing" protruding nails in our floorboards
206) the microwave that warms my beverage on chilly, winter mornings
207) the fading, dyed-red heels that graced my feet on prom night many years ago, giving my daughters such enjoyment today
208) the act of sitting unassisted, second developmental achievement in one day
209) the warmed, wooden planks under my bare-feet, absorbing sun through the windows
210) the granddaughter missing her Papa
211) the ornate, old buffet that holds all my discontinued Mikasa Richelieu china, purchased from an antique store
212) the sight of my children jumping gleefully on the couch together, before I made them stop
213) the comfort of wearing my husband's button-down shirt
214) the knowledge that God is sovereign over governments
215) the shelves that hold my many well-loved and well-worn books
216) the six frames on the playroom wall that display my children's works of art
217) the almost musical quality of a baby cooing
218) the bushes that become hiding places
219) the slide propped high on the Wheeping Cherry, made from the broken tree-house
220) the compost bin at the fallow garden's corner that will feed our seedlings and plants all spring and summer
221) the sandbox built by my husband's hands, scene of moats, castles, towers and mountains
222) the hole under the dogwood tree where the children dig and get dirty and imagine
223) the crystallized sweetness of dried pineapple
224) the picture of a woman in red with white-flowered bouquet
225) the monthly Book Club meeting tonight