Home just isn't the same anymore. And for some very good reasons.
We're living with - and growing comfortable in - the ambience of industry, the Preacher and I. People sawing and hammering, mudding and sanding, painting and varnishing. Swearing and covering it up.
Our biggest project has sent us and a few others scooting rather regularly into the nether regions of Hope House. The lower floor labour camp began eight months ago. We could almost have made a baby in that time, if we weren't past our expiration date. And contractors could have produced a magazine-worthy space in a third that time. But our way is good enough.
We're not aiming for Better Homes. Since adding more house debt doesn't appeal, we've done most of the work ourselves. We've logged a few hours at a time when we can, doing what we're able. With a few remarkable friends pitching in for the largest jobs, Hope House has had what amounts to a slow-cooked basement-raising.
Our lower floor features unique hand-crafted touches. Rough drywall mudding. Misplaced outlets. Mis-tint paint. Missed patches on the last coat of floor finish. And we stapled up a large white tarp for a ceiling.
When it's complete, and that'll be some time yet, our basement won't have a Martha Stewart look, but it will be good enough. We have a place to exercise - or talk earnestly about it. An office for the Preacher, who hasn't seen his library in three years. A family room, where we've already set up the beloved (albeit tacky) fake fireplace I've toted around for years. That tickles me.
As a former interior decorator, I loved telling clients to keep a few of the out-date furnishings that gave them pleasure. Home, by definition, ought to be the one place we find comfort whenever we go there.
Grab bars and walkers, high toilet seats, shower seats, and canes are another reason why our home isn't the same anymore. They're not beautiful, and I wish they weren't necessary. But since a pesky mosquito infected the Preacher with West Nile neurological disease three years ago, they've helped him manage life, so I welcome them.
We used OSB board on our basement floor. I've varnished it to a glossy - though rough - finish. Sanding and another coat may take the grit away, but I'm not going for it. It's not a grand piano, after all. It's a floor - in the "Basement of Good Enough".
Very little stuff matters, in the end. Not brand names, perfect homes, yards or vehicles. Not becoming the best or having the best. God doesn't care a fig if our houses are built and decorated to designer standards, or if they include tacky fireplaces, grab bars or both.
What does God look for within our walls? Hearts and minds willingly under ongoing construction.
People aiming for love, obedience, humility and selfless service to others. An invisible label that reads, "An Original Jesus Design."
Only that is good enough.
