Colors of Sleep Deprivation

Even though I wrote to say I was going to bed...I didn't.  I started to dream and virtual shop.  My favorite fabric and color designer is apparently going out of business.  Check out the Susan Sargent link on the left boxes...rugs and pillow go on sale soon. 

I'm taking this a bit personally.  I mean, really, doesn't she know I have bedrooms to make curtains for?

And then we had two...

homes, that is.

If you have stuck with me through this house hunting phase, you deserve to learn a little about our new home.  But not tonight.  I have been up past midnight for three nights in a row.  I must go to bed.  Thanks for all your support and interest.

Slap on some paint

I have spent the last two days cleaning and touch up painting our house.  Once I start looking for chipped paint, worn moldings or finger prints, I can't stop.  They seem to multiple before my eyes.  We had most of the house painted a year ago so it only needs touch ups here and there.  There are light fixtures and high ceiling corners I may have never cleaned in six years.  Many trucks and grocery carts have run around the corners.

After about an hour of walking around with a paint can and brush, I had to tell myself to "let it go."  This is the house.  This is how it looks.  All the paint or cleaning in the world isn't going to make it into the house of someone else's dream.  If they like it, they like it.  My cleaning the carpet over and over wasn't going to turn it into a four bedroom home.  Covering up each and every chipped molding wasn't going to add a den or granite counter tops.  The house is what it is.

The same can be said for the people who live in the house.  We can try to cover and clean and hide our faults and foibles.  It won't work.  Slapping on some paint in hopes of tricking others into liking us won't work unless God has a chance to sand our soul a bit.  Like my house, we can't be all things to all people.  No amount of scrubbing or touch ups will make us better than what God created us to be. By fessing up to this and allowing ourselves to be who we are, the Holy Spirit has room to work.  By God's grace we awake each day more closely resembling ourselves as seen through God's eyes.

We had our first showing today.  As I left the house after two days of loving care, it looked like the best version of itself.  Bright, comfortable, cozy and well loved.  I hope someone falls in love soon.

Ah, I needed that

As suspected, the House of My Dreams, did not find our offer to be satisfactory.  In hindsight we probably gave up to early in the negotiations, but future (unknown) utility bills danced in my head.  (We are also not game players the back and forth and waiting wasn't fun to us...just tedious and silly.)  I wish it well, and like all relationships you learn something along the way.  It will not have been in vain--our short run at a life together.

When you are mid-breakup (and I will stop this metaphor very soon, I promise) it is always good to just change scenery.  I suggest running away.

We choose a brother and sister in law's home a half days drive away.  The fact they have a beautiful, new, custom build home wasn't a huge help to our mood, but their wonderful company and a gaggle of adorable nephews and a niece made it all worthwhile.  The starbucks coffee, steak kabobs and ice cream the hosts provided me, helped too.  Our sons are fast friends.  At just three and four they have shared a tight bond over their short lives--only seeing each other a few times a year.  I love working to strengthen and nurture our family ties.

We hope to see a new house tomorrow.  I have dubbed it House Number 4,562.  On paper and in photos it has possibilities...and dubious qualities I wait to see in person.  The price is right, so we'll start there.

Shall We Get Married?

It is a lot like dating.  House hunting.  We've been through at least ten homes over the course of the year.  I have personally driven by at least *two hundred* in the last two years.  Some we were serious about, some were just the cute boy who asked to have coffee.  "Ah, what the heck?  Why not?"  At times we were really in the mood to find "the one."  Other days we just didn't really care.  Life was just fine as it was.  We liked ourselves and our lives as it was.

Recently, we started to date a few places with a hint towards exclusivity.  Returning again and again to see what depth and possibility we could mine.  In more than one instance we had to look beyond appearances.  Sometimes there was nothing lasting beneath the shiny sinks.  Some of them didn't even shower for our second 'date.'

In the end, we are dating two or three of them.  And like possible spouses, none of them are perfect.  Each has its unique quirks.  Can we live with small bathrooms, more than a small back yard?  How old is it again?  Ohhh, but we really like its neighborhood.  How about this school verses that one?  Is the road noise more important than a nice floor plan?  And then, is that one really worth the cost?  Can we give away that much of ourselves?

We picked one yesterday.  We are waiting to see if it likes us back.  (It doesn't look promising.)

Feeling Today

A number of years ago I was washing dishes with a relative.  It was a year or so after her father had died.  While he died at a old age and had lived a full life, the final years had been a struggle for him and his children.  She had been his primary caretaker.  She was his daughter.  As we washed plates and glasses from a holiday meal, I asked how she was doing; this holiday, a year later.  In a week or two it would be his birthday.  I wondered, out loud, what the year had felt like without her father.  I meant to acknowledge the day, to honor him, to give her a moment to share her feelings.

She smiled an indecipherable smile at me.  I know she said something about her dad--a brief acknowledgment.  I remember that she said, "I just try to think of the positive."  Then it was done.  She dried a plate.  Set it down.  And asked me for the glass I was washing so that she could dry it.  The topic moved on.

I remember mentally noting that she said, "think" where I had asked about "feelings."  Our languages didn't match up.

Some days I wish I didn't feel birthdays and anniversaries and the date my loved one died.  Some days, I wish my primary language wasn't "feelings."

But it is.

Today is Carole's birthday.  She would have been 64.  Though, she wouldn't have celebrated it today.  Aging was something she lived in denial of...believing that by pure strength and positive thought (plus a lot of aerobics and some other potions and creams) she could over come it.

That wasn't the way it went.

Try as she might, keeping her cards hidden until July when her pool was open and the sun was hot, didn't put off aging...nor did it keep us from celebrating her birth.  Which was the real point.  That she lived.

Through all the emotions I have today, I am giving thanks for that.  She lived.

Running Around, Crazy.

A stainless steel stove there, a granite sink here.  Pink carpet, flocked wall paper.  Children's pencil drawings on the wall, a mounted deer head in the family "bar" area. 

The qualities and defining moments of each home we have been in, change.  They are as unique as the families that have occupied the homes.  There is one constant on our home search.

The air quality.

Apparently, each home has very poor air.  Or, perhaps they are pumping something into the air.  Whatever it is, it has a disastrous effect on my children.  Each and every house we have seen--outside of the very first one, where we had the element of the "unknown" on our side--they have behave poorly.  Well below par.

I blame it on air quality but really what they are breathing is probably more a mixture of parental anxiety and fear, all the while trying to be polite as we get to know our real estate agent.  Throw in the fact I rarely raise my voice with them in public (and see, "wanting to be polite" above) and that we go usually tour homes on the weekend, which is securely "Daddy Play Time" in the kids' minds, and it is a awful combo.

This past weekend, BB took to pulling out one of his favorite new phrases.  It is from the Wiggles.  "Something strange is going on around here..."  He says it with the comedic timing that only a boy of four or five can master. And, the first five times I wanted to laugh with him as he went from room to room muttering this phrase cracking himself up each time.  It is so funny to watch little boys develop their shtick.  But I couldn't laugh because his sister was spinning.  She spins and then takes great joy in falling down...alot of joy.  She also has taken to shrieking.  And, her mantra has become, "I do it myself."  Emphasis on 'myself.'  Then add the running.  Empty houses with multiple rooms are a huge novelty...so the temptation to run from room to room is great.  Jokes.  Spinning.  Shrieking. Running.  House hunting.

My husband and I both had alcohol with dinner on Saturday and Sunday

It is no wonder we haven't settled on what to do after this weekend's whirlwind tour.  The air quality was just so poor.

Above Average Housing

I first began to think about housing and housing/neighborhood development during college.  I spent two spring breaks on Habitat for Humanity service trips to Southern towns.  As these types of trips are meant to do, each was eye opening.  It isn't just verbiage when I say that they also changed my life.

I met people I admired.  They were inspiring and dedicated and passionate.  All qualities I hoped to be someday.  They shaped my ambiguous dreams into a plan...a blueprint, you might say, for the next two years of my life.

After typing that, now two years seems like such a short time frame.  I blink these days and two years have gone by.  But in my twenties, I faced plentiful and steep learning curves.  It was a time where I was so mailable that each daily experience left a large imprint on who I am.  Time moved slowly.  Sometimes painfully so.

After college I moved to Americus, GA to be an extended volunteer with Habitat for Humanity International.  I would spend most of my time in Georgia, with a three month stop over in West Virginia to host Spring Break trips at an affiliate there.  It should be noted that I never spent much time on a work site.  I was the organizer, the spokesperson, the cheerleader, the spiritual voice, and the logistics officer.  Back in Georgia I worked in Media Relations, writing and promoting the various nationwide build events.  I recited these facts and figures multiple times a day to reporters.  The repetition wore a grove in my soul.  Repetition, combined with my hands-on experiences and daily conversations with people who live in substandard housing around Americus, fueled a passion for housing that stays with me.

So, now I am looking for my own house.  Actually, it will be our third house (fourth, if you count a student apartment) as a couple.  The one we currently live in is the only one we've owned; (my husband is quick to point out we don't *actually* own this one either, the bank does...pish, posh I say.) our first home was a parsonage owned by the congregation.

When we moved into our current home we jokingly said it reminded us of a Habitat home.  Translation, it is a basic, usable home, without any of the bells and whistles of so many new builds today.  The rooms are adequate, but small.  It is enough.

But of course, we want more.

 

Now 14 years after my work at HFHI, I am faced with the mix of suburban peer pressure, basic common sense for our family, my desire not to disappoint my former colleagues and my own wish to be true to myself.  On my list of what I want in my next house, along side the many "wishes," I list "doesn't make me feel like a hypocrite."

I would much rather reuse an old house, than buy one of the brand new vinyl beige Mc-homes that are popping up around us.  I would rather live in an established neighborhood than on land I remember as a corn field just a year ago.  I don't want to buy more than we need.  I want to fight the urge to have shiny counter tops and appliances that are exactly like everyone else.

But I also want spaces free of kids toys, a bedroom for my daughter, a public school system that doesn't makes me consider private school, and mature trees.  I'd be lying if I didn't also list: a larger bathroom, a kitchen island, storage closets, lots of windows and wood floors.

As I write on Sunday afternoon, my husband is loading the kids in to the car to go look at a brand spanking new home.

I'll report back on whether it has everything on my list.

Republic of Congo

 Guatamala

Papua New Guinea
Photos are from the HFHI website and one from Coldwell Banker

Interrupting my house hunting series to post a link to a beautiful entry--promising God's love.  It is from Meta's blog, Tangled up in Grace.

Hunting for a House

My husband and I have accepted reality.  For now.  This.  Is where we live.  It is, and we might as well make peace with that fact.  There are many reasons this community doesn't fit, and if I focus on them, they start to multiply.  But there are a lot of things this community offers us, and when I focus on all of them, I am thankful.

We are going to focus on 'thankful' for the time being.

For the past two years EG has shared a room with us.  She has been a great roommate.  Quiet, respectful, able to sleep with the lights on or off; she is even able to sleep through quiet conversation or the blare of the morning alarms.  Sure, her decorating isn't quite my style--I'm not in favor of red crayon scribbled on green walls--but she's held up her end of the roommate pact like the trooper she is.  Like any good roommate, there is always the pull to "grow up and move on."  It is time to do just that.

I'm going to spread out my thoughts on this house hunt for a few posts.  Read along as you are so interested.

What are we fighting?

I'm not a car person.  In fact any conversation over cars--car parts, car brands, new models--bores me to tears. And, if the conversation turns too pretentious, I will internally begin to cry. (Along with the fact that the person gets a black check by their name...we've covered the fact I am a bit judgmental in earlier posts.)  Even though car brands are a regional distinction--the current state I live in is BMW central, while my home state goes for a more understated Tundra Explorer Escalade.  Did I get that right?

Cars are a practical thing to me.  They get us where we are going.  They should do their best not to destroy the environment.  They should only be as big as we need them to be.  I don't derive any ego from the car I drive.  (although, I did love my one more high end performance car...it was super fun to drive, even as a station wagon.)

It is a good thing I feel this way because, I drive a minivan.  I grew up cruising around in a minivan.  I dented my first fender in my parent's minivan (and the garage, and the mirror, and someone else's fender...it was a long learning curve.)  I do not fear the minivan.

But apparently, many do.  Both of my husband's sister in laws have vowed never to drive one.  A friend on facebook recently braced her friends for the fact she was now driving one.  This was met with a long list of people wondering what had happened to her and calls for help to straighten her out.

I read once (or heard on the news) from a "car expert" that the minivan is best designed car insofar as it does what is was created to do, perfectly.  What's not to love with that description?

What's with the fear?  Is a minivan just the final push over the parenting cliff we all fear?  As we stand there in comfortable shoes, mucus and spit covered t-shirts, with a crying or wining or arguing child clinging to us; do we really think it is our practical car that signals "Not the Cool One" to the world.

Fear not, my friends.  It is only a car.

He is Risen! He is Risen, Indeed!!

I practiced this basic piece of the Easter liturgy with the kids all Sunday morning.  EG had it down.  Too, too cute to hear a two year old shout back, "He is Risen, Indeed!"  And, then...her 'Alleluia,' it is heaven itself to listen to.**

We had a fantastic Easter with family.  At one point during the afternoon on Sunday I was so overwhelmed by the joy in my backyard.  New life was sprouting up in every direction. 
It was also one of those moments that are achingly sad for someone who lives a 12 hour car ride from family...
"This is how every weekend could be,"  I think wistfully to myself.  But life is full of these momentary glimpses of "love," "grace," "joy," and the Kingdom to Come.  I am so thankful for this Easter.  Blessings to each of you who were there to share in it.  We love you.
Some photos of the prep and festivities.

** Now, she didn't actually get to say it during worship because I thought the 9am service started at 9:30am.  oops.  I got to practice offering myself grace right away on Easter morning. 

(Maundy) Thursday Theology

It actually started last night.  In the shower was an African American Baptist choir singing  and stomping their feet along to a song that has these lyrics:  "They rolled the stone away.  They rooooolled it away.  (over and over) Jesus is aaaaalive. (over and over)."  The smell of sickening sweet fruit soap mixing with the steam, made me realize that "no", we hadn't left the doors open to a choir, but rather BB was on a roll in his nightly shower.

Today, in the car he began to speculate about that stone.  "Mom, how many people do you think it took to move it in front of Jesus' tomb?  six or eight?"
"sure."
"Maybe two...three...four...five... or eight gajillion quadiridian.  Do you think it was that many?"
"What do you think?"
"I don't know that God did it."
"Say more...did what?"
"Mom.  You know when those bad guys came and put Jesus in the tomb all dead...I don't know if God moved the stone."
"Humm.."  (traffic got heavy for a moment.)
"Why do you think those bad guys killed Jesus?  They were bad.  (he is angry sounding now.)."
"BB, I don't know if they were bad guys...I think they were afraid. I think they didn't want to do the things Jesus was asking them to do...like love people, and give up power...not get to be in charge.  I think they were afraid."
"Mom.  If God is big enough to move that stone away...ya remember, the one eight gajillion quadiridian people moved into place...can't God hold the whole world in his hands?  Or maybe the two of them...God and Jesus, they can hold the whole world in their hands."

(by this time we had arrived at our destination...)
"Yes, BB God is big enough to move the stone away and hold the whole world."
A bit of a pause and I figure the conversation is going in a whole new directions.  Nope.

"How did they kill Jesus?"
"Oh, (sigh) BB.  That is a really sad part of the story....do you really want to hear it?"
"oh.  no, I guess not today."

He looks sad and serious.  Thinking for a while.

The car is stopped, and I am out of it standing in the parking lot by BB's carseat.  I run my hands through his hair and kiss his cheeks.  This dear boy.  This dear, dear boy who I hope remembers his shower performance and learns to go through life in celebration....verses lament.  While the full story is important for all of us to hear and remember...some of us are prone to go through life forgetting the joy Good Friday was meant to bring us.

Blessings.