We renovated. We moved.
It’s so easy to write those words, but really. Really. Moving is a pain. Renovating is a pain. Like it’s literally a pain. My back, legs, arms, and eyeballs were sore for days. I wondered, while moving boxes of books from the basement to the upstairs, if there are humans who embody grace and patience during a move. Are there humans who look like this when relocating?
If so, I’d like to meet this kind.
I simply did not embody grace and patience and looked more like this:
This is a picture of me shaking my finger at my sick husband when he suggested I do a fourteenth coat on the trim we were painting. He says I only had to paint two coats when all was said and done, but I’m pretty sure I painted fourteen.
When our realtor first showed me the house, it took about five minutes for me to say, “Nope. But thanks for trying.” I just didn’t like what I saw. It needed quite a bit of updating, the carpet smelled, there was pink tile, and after looking for the right house for a couple of years, I was waiting for that “This is it!” moment – that moment when the heavens open, light shines down on the house even though it’s raining, and angels start singing Kenny Loggins, “This Is It.” Then I’d know. But I definitely didn’t have that moment when I first saw this house. No Kenny Loggins, no angels…just smelly, stained carpet. And pink tile.
I snuck in late to Bible Study after the showing, and the women sitting next to me leaned over and whispered, “How was the house?”
“Not for us.” Because I didn’t like what I saw. And it smelled. And there was pink tile.
But my husband wanted to see it, so we went back later that afternoon. I was frustrated by what I felt like was a waste of time for both me and the realtor, mostly because I was adamant that this house was not the one. After pointing out the multiple reasons as to why we shouldn’t like the house, I was sure my husband would turn and say something like, “You’re right. You’re always right. I mean, really. Why did I even schedule this showing because this is just not the one.” And that’s about when he turned and said:
“This is it.”
He didn’t sing it, but I could see it in his eyes. It was the same look he had when he took me to see what was going to be the future home for our church. There was so much excitement in his voice when he revealed this:
To encourage his excitement, I said something like, “What the heck?!”
But as we walked through the building, he saw past the crumble and decay, and I could tell he was envisioning a beautifully restored church as he pointed out the nuances in each room and how the space could be potentially be used. Tearing down the building wasn’t going to happen; this old school-house was going to be restored into something beautiful.
And we had the same experience walking through the house together. I could feel my excitement level rise as he pointed out what we could do to restore various parts of the house, how we could freshen and update rooms. So I was mildly interested when we sent in our contract. I half-heartedly wrote a letter to the owners, knowing there were already other contracts on the house, and then I cried angry tears when the realtor called and said, “It’s yours!”
I cried angry tears. Oh, for the love of ingratitude. Crying was my actual response. My husband was on the phone with the realtor when she said, “Is everyone excited?” and he looked over at me standing in the corner like a four-year old, letting go of every bit of self-constraint and dignity I had, and over dramatically crying out, “What have we doooooone!”
Oh, my goodness. My husband is a saint. Because I just would have stomped on me.
Making things beautiful is not a particular gift of mine, so I followed my husband’s direction when it came to some of the small renovations. Paint cans were open, smelly carpet was pulled up, sinks were pulled out, and many working hands walked in and out of our home for several weeks. At one point a handyman stopped by to take a look at our broken oven. Apologizing for the mess everywhere, he looked at me and said, “Ah. You got a money pit! You won’t be finished with this for a long time!” And then he laughed. And then I punched him.
Once we got passed that, he asked if I was enjoying the process of renovating the house.
I enjoyed the process about as much as I enjoyed knee surgery. So I thank the Lord for the Chip and Joanna’s of the world who do this kind of work and actually enjoy it, and I fully accept that this is an area in which I have not been gifted. It’s knee surgery.
And yet, one by one the rooms were transformed into something beautiful for our family. A perfect space for friends, church members, and neighbors. A comfortable place for holidays, birthdays, and even the daily routine. When we sat around the dinner table for the first time in our new house, I was struck by how ungrateful I had been during the last several months; my complaining over pink tiles, broken appliances, and weird smells became all consuming. Renovations or not, we have a place to use for the glory of God.
But it doesn’t smell anymore (and the pink tile is gone…HALLELUJAH), and I’m so thankful for the transformation. I’m thankful my husband could see past what was right in front of us. When I was walking in the neighborhood for the first time, I was overcome with thanksgiving for all God has provided, and I kept repeating the phrase from Psalm 23: “He restores my soul…”
He Restores Our Souls
He renews, He rebuilds, He replenishes…He restores. I’m broken; my sin is uglier than the old school building and the smelly, stain-filled carpet. But He restores. And not in the way that paint provides temporary updating to a room. It’s neither a general, physical restoration, but it’s a deep and lasting restoration that comes from the nourishment of His Word. Just like the green pastures satisfy the sheep; just like the lush grass abundantly provides for them, so our Savior restores and renews our souls.
Is your soul downcast? Are you anxious within? Put your hope in God. He restores. He renews. But our hearts have to be open and willing; our hands can’t clench the sins we know are prevalent but struggle to confess; our arms can’t be folded in defiance wondering relentlessly if God actually cares.
Instead, open your heart to His restoration. Lord, penetrate my heart with the truths in your Word; give patience and desire to read it and study it.
Instead, open your hands to His restoration. Lord, by your strength unclench my fist and give me humility where I burst with pride.
Instead, reach out your arms to Jesus who restores even the most fearful spirit. Lord, I fear troubled waters. Help me walk in your thirst-quenching presence, knowing that you satisfy the deepest longings of my soul.
I’m amazed by the hands that restore, renew, and turn what would be trash into something beautiful to behold, like the transformation of our church building:
Thank the Lord He sees past our broken souls. Thank the Lord He doesn’t wince at the foul smell and shudder at the amount of sin. Instead, He sees a brand new creation. Sin doesn’t have its victory over us, grace does. He loves His children beyond measure, and because of that love we’re transformed, we’re renewed, and we’re restored into something beautiful.
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Beautifully written, Katie.