kylee-larson

I have spent the past two weeks performing gross, frustrating, exhausting, and time-consuming tasks. I pulled up carpet and yanked up staples. I shoveled and swept away a bug metropolis off the patio (as Phil went on a "murderous rampage with liquid death" aka...bug sprayed the entire perimeter of the house). We've hauled garbage, scrubbed floors, painted, scraped, packed, unpacked. Our house is a mess...just one big stack of boxes and drawers and furniture and I can't find my tweezers and I have a uni-brow.

I'm loving this.

The more I work, the more I fall in love with this place. Every staple pulled (every blister added) is one step closer to making it OURS. One step closer to our dreaming. And God is teaching me that He feels that way about me too. Everything he works on, pulls out, cleans up, is him falling in love...him fulfilling the dream he's dreamed of me. This makes me feel beautiful and special...worthy and humble...loved.

Among these, I also feel displaced. Like I don't quite fit yet. Like it's not quite me or mine or...where should I put my toothbrush now? Things aren't the same...and someday this might be normal, but it isn't normal yet. And this reminds me of myself too. How, in going with God's "renovations" there is a certain level of not fitting quite right into my own skin at first...even if it is a somehow improved skin. Even if I know the metaphorical carpet was nasty...I am not sure what to do when the floors are stripped, swept, mopped.

I guess I'm learning about patience. God's patience because he loves me; he has the "vision" for me. He's gone from room to room. He's fallen in love. He's in it for the long haul. He's paid off the mortgage. And I've learned a little about the patience that I need...I learned it from my house. My house sits here, and it lets me fix it and clean it and love it. And it gives me a place to love others and be loved by them. What more does God ask from me?