Renting, Contentment and Brass Hardware

We rented for about 7 years before we moved into this "new" rental in town, following 7 years of home-ownership. (We sold right before the big housing crash.) It was never our plan to rent, but then we found that farm, and fell in love. I prided myself in my contentment even though we didn't own and I couldn't change and paint and be as creative decorating as maybe I would have liked.

Meanwhile I enjoyed waving fields of corn, long walks down the driveway and views out every single brand new Anderson window.  The carpet was also brand new, as well as everything else in that house, save the charming old woodwork.

The winter was another story, but I was cozy and warm,  and I loved seeing the wind drift and dapple the snow in waves. The country was second best, coming from a childhood of growing up on a lake.

Yes, I was spiritual all right, "suffering" in my rental home and learning through the lack of a mortgage tying us down, that "this world is not my home."

Then we moved to town and I found out I had not really learned that lesson in contentment.

This house has acoustical ceiling tile in the bathroom, painted over wallpaper paste, and dark low pile Berber in two bedrooms. Oh yes, and peeling kitchen cabinets with brass hardware. Did I tell you Mitchell shares a room with my office? He's glad to have the computer so close, but the poor kid (ahem, teen) has no privacy as his room opens directly to the living room, and kitchen.

It's cozy and the utilities are cheap, the kitchen is massive and the garage is so heavily insulted it stayed a balmy 20* inside even when the temperatures dropped to a wind chill of -40*, but it has definite quirks.

And they irk me.

We have goals that we are making progress toward, but I'm ready to be in a house with quirks that I can do something about!

Yesterday my issue of Martha Stewart Living came and was a bit astonished to see this page spread on brass.

My kitchen with brass hardware (and cute little girl in tutu.)

I know it's not the same, and I can't paint my cabinets grey or replace my woodgrain laminate with white silestone, but my hardware is on trend! 

We are where we need to be, and if I can't be content with all the little annoyances of a house-not-my-own, at least I can be content with that. 

And with my brass kitchen hardware.

I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.  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. Philippians 4:11-12 

Birthday Bunting

I've never been so happy to have saved a few scraps from the big crafting purge of our move. These are scraps of men's dress shirts already hacked up to make aprons. The sleeves and backs were the bits left. Who saves stuff like that? Uhhh. Me. 

 I am just beside myself that they happen to MATCH my kitchen! 

AND matching yarn!! Too much accidental coordination, I tell you. It's too good! I can't stand it!

I probably should have ironed them, and the edges are rough, so it's not perfect, but neither is this house, and neither are we. My favorite home decor blog's tag line is "It doesn't have to be perfect to be beautiful." Good enough is sometimes best, and necessity sometimes spurs the best creativity. 

The birthday girl wanted paper streamers and balloons, and I was feeling the pressure to buy more than we could or else disappoint. It turns out I already had just what I needed.

We all like this much better anyway.

Don't you?

Moving, Winter, and the Sounds of Change

Last night I finally found the box of mittens and scarves and hats and, this morning, in the rush to push the kids out the door, down the crunchy snowy sidewalk and onto the bus, we unknotted scarves from previous play and sorted mittens. I supposed it was about time this chore got done since the cold weather came LAST week and the snow is finally being bob-catted from the berm in the middle of every town street. So, I was a little late. No frostbite was seen or felt, however, and we were none the worse for wear.

On August 1st we moved to Waconia. Back to my hometown, the land of The Lake, and cute little downtown shops and Catholic church bells ringing and Target. We left wide open spaces, cows moooing, a spacious farmhouse that I had finally gotten organized and decorated the way I wanted, our "En-Gedi", unplowed roads in winter and high utility bills.

Old Town Hall 

I think God himself led us to live here, (a block from a movie theater, my favorite coffee shop, the bubble tea shop, chocolate outlet, consignment shop and new church campus) though sometimes my dear husband balks at the presumption of such claims. We moved because it made sense financially. But I believe that when we "trust the Lord with all our hearts and lean not on [just] our own understanding, He will make straight our paths."

We have hearts that more than anything want to do what He wants, so I think he leads even when we think we are being logical. Even with all our logical decision making, only God could have known the dominoes that would fall when we moved. One by one, each decision led to another, and the resulting feeling that this season is divine gift.

The other evening, as the snow fell softly and turned the night white, I lay cozy in bed, but missed the farm and the howling and shuddering wind that came with storms. It's quiet here in town, at least the weather is. The intermittent tractor sounds carrying across the open expanse have been replaced by the clatter of garbage trucks and snowplows, delivery trucks and postal traffic. As I thought about how I missed the isolated sounds of the gales galloping unhindered across 200 acres of bare open fields, the windows began to shudder here in my town home. Evidently some sounds never change.

Comforted, I fell right to sleep.