Where the Heart Is...

Designing my house has been my hobby, enjoyment, sometimes obsession over the last four plus years.  It has, at times, consumed my thoughts with paint options, when I maybe should have been concerned with what movie my kids were watching.  It has been the source of some of my ultimate highs, in terms of problem solving, and ultimate lows, in terms of marital compromise.  I have learned that my husband is a master woodworker, and that the first can of paint will never be the right color. 

Yet through the learning curve of what is being a home owner, I have discovered that making this house my home is so much more than paint and pillows. 

I walk the fine line of remembering that while my treasure is in heaven, this house, I do treasure.  That while God is the ultimate Creator, he has instilled in me a creative spirit that I am proud to display.  That while inviting new faces into our home to show Christ, is priority, inviting them into  a place that is, Inviting, is important too. 

So now, as we begin to contemplate the next step in our family's future, this house might soon become part of our past.  The walls that I painted  with my sister, while both fully pregnant might be enjoyed by someone else.  The light fixture that I taught myself electricity on might be used to light up someone else's bed time routine.  The ceiling that was painstakingly scraped clean of it's odd popcorn texture might be forgotten during someone else's Thanksgiving dinner.

I am realizing that the small touches placed in this home, seen often as frivolous design elements mean so much more to the person who put them there.  They are memories, rooted deep in one's thoughts, only to be covered over with the transfer of a mortgage. 

Ask an interior designer about a wall, and I'm sure there is a story behind it.  Ask them about a woodwork chip, and there is probably a child's name that is brought up.  Ask me about my pillows, and I could talk to you for six months straight.  

These walls have seen four little people grow from babies to kids.  They have heard more crying than one house should be able to endure, but it did.  They have heard fights, laughter, early morning prayers, and late night friends. They were once a little ugly, and now thanks to Sherwinn Williams, are quite the beauty.  

We will miss this place.  I might even stalk it.   If my kids forget it, I had professional pictures taken.  My home was where my heart was... and part of it will be here forever.  At least that's what my etched name in the closet woodwork would have one believe.  But we will just keep that between me, and these walls.  Turns out, Celine, they don't really talk after all.