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TRUE BLUE

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bluechair

The newest thing at my house is blue. Midnight blue. It’s hard but smooth, and has angles I’d never want to try to measure without a protractor.

And it’s glorious.

So what is this thing? It’s my birthday present. And in fact, there’s not just one, but two.

Two midnight blue, sleek, wooden (that part is key) Adirondack chairs. They sit outside as you walk up to our house, and seeing them makes me smile. And it also makes me wonder why it took us so long to get them.

I’m a person who loves being outside. I always have. I love the mountains, the ocean, parks, sunshine, and sitting outside at coffee shops. The green and blues of nature remind me that God is there and that He is good.

So when we moved to a place with a patio, you’d think the first thing I’d do would be to set up an outdoor space. But it wasn’t. Why? Because I was afraid of spending the money. So, instead we bought some used plastic chairs. Within two weeks they had cracked. Within a month they had scratched. Still, they were what we had, so I didn’t think much of it.

Until my husband told me that for my birthday he was getting me real, wooden Adirondack chairs.

We picked them out, came home and put them together and we spent the next two hours siting outside, talking, sipping on a cocktail and then eating dinner.

In the last two weeks I’ve spent more time sitting outside my little house than I have the three years combined. Why? Because I have something real and solid to sit in.

Yes, they cost more than the generic plastic chairs. Yes, they might chip or fade over time. But every penny was worth it. It was worth it for the quality. It was worth it for the joy it brings to me when I walk out in the morning with my Bible and a steaming mug of jasmine tea.

And it was worth it for what they say.

Those chairs speak loudly. They remind me that my husband he sees me. He knows me and knows what makes me smile. He knows what feeds my soul and he’s willing to spend the money to give it to me, even when I won’t spend it on myself.

And that is love. Real, true blue, stable, won’t crack when you sit on it love. And it’s pretty magnificent.

DREAM HOME

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I’ve always been a dreamer. Imagining perfect scenarios, setting my sights high — often unattainably high. One could say I’ve long had champagne taste and a beer budget. And yet, it doesn’t stop me from dreaming — even when I know that the snapshots I create behind my eyes will likely never happen.

Some people could look at my life and say that I am already living the dream. I live in Honolulu, for goodness sake. The place people save their whole lives to visit once. Paradise. But living here as taught me that we all don’t dream the same dreams and that reality (no matter how close to our dreams it is) seems to leave us wanting.

Which puts me in good company with the (I assume) millions of other people dreaming of winning the 2018 HGTV Dream Home.

But I’m pretty sure my dreams are rooted in something different than anyone else’s.

The house is stunning. It’s the kind of place I’ve always wanted to live but knew I’d never be able to afford. The details are incredible. The renovation spot on. The décor, gorgeous. And those views. . .oh those views.

Those are the views of my childhood.

And that’s why I really, really, REALLY want to win.

As incredible as the Dream House is (and it’s incredible, see for yourself here), I want to live there not just because of what it is, but where it is. Specifically.

My parent’s home has a view of the beach that the house sits on. I remember walking that beach as a five-year-old, gathering oysters that my mother would bread and bake so we could sit on our deck eating their briney goodness.

My sister had one of her birthday parties out there, her friends and I balancing on the rocks, trying to avoiding slipping on barnacles. One of her friends found an actual pearl in the oyster she picked.

Then there were the summers where I’d jump in off the boat ramp, sometimes neglecting to close my mouth and swallowing a big gulp of seawater. No adult would dare get into that freezing Puget Sound water, but I relished it.

I’m not sure how many shoes I lost out there during low tide. My feet sinking into the mud as clams bubbled nearby.

Thinking back now, I realize how magical it all was.

Erik and I have lived in Hawaii for over six years, making annual trips back to Seattle for work and to see family. We love Hawaii for so many reasons. That’s why we’ve stayed.

But the chance to live so close to family, to get to attend my nephews’ football games and cross country meets, and to get to go to my nieces’ basketball games and ballet recitals, that’s what makes the 2018 HGTV Dream Home a true dream to me.

I know my odds are feather slim.

I know that it’s probably more likely it snows in Hawaii next week than it is that Erik and I would win that house. But I’m still going to dream about it. Because what’s the harm in dreaming? After all, I’m a northwest girl, and like the Seahawks said when they last went to the Super Bowl, “Why not us?”

THROW PILLOWS

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I’ve been redecorating lately. Buying fabrics, thinking about color schemes, imagining newly framed photos on the wall.

For some people, this isn’t anything exciting. They redecorate all the time, making sure the current trends are well reflected in their picture-perfect homes. But for me, in this season, it’s a big deal.

When we moved into this house over a year ago, we were thankful to sign a six-month lease. We thought it would just be temporary in every sense of the word. I hated it, but I figured we would soon be moving on. We didn’t buy new furniture or new artwork. We used what we had and called it good. And it has been good. It’s worked. But every time I had a longing to do something different, to make it feel more settled, I told myself it wasn’t worth it.

We’d move soon, so anything we bought now would be a waste of money. The next place will be better. The next place we’ll settle more.

And that’s where I’ve always lived. I’ve always lived for next. Even when my sister went away to college and I moved into the larger bedroom, I didn’t hang any posters. I didn’t repaint the hideous Pepto-Bismol pink walls because I knew, in a few years, it would be my turn to leave.

The same thing happened in college. I’d only be in a room for nine months so why do anything besides hang my clothes, set up my desk and put on clean sheets?

So here I am, years later, and I’ve decided I’m done living for “next.” I want to embrace where God has me today. I want it to reflect us, right where we are, at this moment.

These days are fleeting. That part I’ve always gotten right. But where you go from there, that’s the part in me that’s changing. Because they are fleeting, I want to be present. I want to be right here, right now and I want to be thankful for it. I don’t want to wish it away (although there are things I wish could change), I want to embrace it. I want to make it mine. Make it ours.

I’m learning that even if we only live here another two months, it will be money well spent. And so, while we aren’t buying the new couch I want, we will hang new curtains, and I’ll sew new pillows. We will print those amazing photos that Erik took and we’ll frame them and hang them on our wall. When you walk in our creaky front door, you’ll see beauty. You’ll see us.

I want to make this place ours, and I want to like how it looks. I want to invite people over and not give them caveat. I want to stop making excuses and telling them about the amazing condo we used to live in.

I want to be here, now, because this is where God has me. This is where He has us.

CURTAINS

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Pulling the curtains open was hard this morning. Not because they are awkwardly behind our aging sectional, but because I didn’t really want to open them.

There are days when I leave them closed, and the light never pours and puddles on the scratched coffee table.

But today, I made myself.

I made myself because I knew that I needed to let the light in. I’ve been feeling down lately. And when life feels heavy, it’s easier to stay in a cocoon. To take longer lying in bed, to leave the curtains closed, to wear stretchy pants and put your hair in a messy bun.

Part of the reason I’ve been feeing out of sorts is I’m a gal who craves connection. Not the surface, small-talk kind, but the deep kind. That kind that makes you feel like you matter because the conversation matters.

The other side of that coin is that I’m private. I want that connection, I long for it, but I’m not the best judge of when it’s appropriate to go there, and who it’s safe to go there with. So, in this house on a busy street with a bus stop on the corner, I often keep my curtains closed. It’s a way to protect myself. To stay private, safe, contained.

Except – why is there always an “except?” – then I stay stuck in darkness (or worse, artificial light).

So today, I did it. I opened the curtains. I let the light in. Yes, there will be people passing by my gate peering in all day. I don’t like it. But to let the light, in I realize I have to let those people in, too. We were created to be in community. Even if that community is just a nod to the neighbor or a kind smile, it matters. It’s the light. The light that we all need, whether we realize it or not.

I don’t know that tomorrow will be any different. I don’t know that I’ll feel more connected or more at peace. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that today I opened the curtains. Did you?

TAKE DOWN YOUR MIRRORS

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see-through

We recently moved. It has been rough. We loved the place we were in before and are less than enamored with our current residence. But in the midst of feeling uncomfortable, unsettled and uncertain, I am trying to be open to what God can teach me. I have a feeling there’s a lot to learn in this season. One of the things that I’ve already noticed is how not having many mirrors has affected me.

Our old place—the one we loved—was built in the 80s with mirrors everywhere. Some of them were brilliantly placed. There were full walls of mirrors in the living room and bedroom to amplify the ocean and mountain views. Both bathrooms had a full wall of mirrors above the counters—no dainty mirrors there—and of course, the closet in the bedroom had, you guessed it, mirrored doors. Even on the elevator ride to our seventh floor unit we were surrounded by mirrors.

As someone who has spent far too much time analyzing my body, and face, and hair, and clothes, I didn’t realize how living surrounded by mirrors in some ways magnified my insecurities. If my stomach was sticking out a bit more than I would like on any given day—or all of them—there was no hiding. I saw it everywhere. Even after throwing on a t-shirt and a hat to take the dog for a walk, I’d scrutinize my appearance for seven floors, wondering what people would think—what they would see—when they looked at me. It was second nature. It always has been. I guess that’s one of the lingering symptoms of years battling an eating disorder.

Yet…and yes, there is a blessed yet, I don’t do that here. Here in this place that doesn’t feel like home. This place where we are grateful we have a six-month lease, instead of a full year. Here I don’t look at myself nearly as often. The best part is not that I don’t miss it, but that I feel better not staring at my humanity hundreds of times a day.

This new place has exactly two mirrors. One in the tiny bathroom above the sink. It’s small, only enough for one person to use at once. The second one is also small. We put that one up so that when Erik and I are both getting ready at the same tine I have somewhere to do my hair and makeup.

There are no full-length mirrors, no haunting reflections. There’s no place for me to look at my entire outfit and frown when I don’t like what I see. And there’s been freedom in it. Freedom in the lack of mirrors. Freedom in glancing at what I look like once and then forgetting about it as I go about my day.

I’ve realized, in a culture so obsessed with appearance, mirrors allow us to keep obsessing. It may not kill us, like it did Narcissus, but then again, it might already be eating away at us in ways we hadn’t realized.

What about you? How many mirrors do you have in your home? Do they help you or hinder you? I’m finding a silver lining in not being surrounded by my reflection. In fact, when we move again, I’ll keep that in mind. But man, do I miss the air conditioning, ocean view and swimming pool.