How has week 2 of blogging gone?

Not great.

I have been in a creative ditch. I debated topics but nothing seemed worth the time (mine or yours). The more effort I put into coming up with something fresh, the staler the ideas became. After several unsuccessful post attempts, I spent my time watching a lot of television to distract myself from the undercurrent of anxiety regarding my neglected blog. And I ate a lot, like maybe three bags of kettle corn in a disturbingly short period of time…

I know to have a successful blog, one must post with regularity. So I am guessing this will never be a successful blog because I am not going to force myself, or you, to suffer through some of the things that ended up in drafts earlier this week in my effort to be consistent. But my imagination awoke after a visit to a dear family friend.

As soon as I crossed the crooked entryway leading to the curving stairs of this artist friend’s home, I felt my creative freeze holding captive my desire to write, think, and create begin to thaw. There are places in this world where the sensation of whimsy settles into physical form. Her home is a rare oasis where my senses are awakened. This house is a gift to me. It has been a magical place since I was a child.

She and my mother, both fantastic artists, have been friends for decades. When I was little, I remember lying on the wooden planks of her serene green porch, half listening to their conversation about God and art while floating flecks of dust twinkled in the warm shafts of summer evening light.

Some of my earliest memories of desiring to create were birthed from being in their presence and among the beautiful images I was exposed to in this home. I longed to be able to create something like my mom and our friend were able to do with paintbrushes.

Her home was also where I first experienced an inspiring bathroom. Every inch is covered in worn maps of the world depicted in seafoam green, turquoise, buttercream yellow, and faded rose pinks. The mirror is covered in quotes and faces of faith that have gone before us in this world.

I have spent many hours talking through my hardest challenges in the sitting room warmed by a wood-burning stove that projects violet and orange hues of light onto the walls of mahogany-bound books.

In adolescence, prayers over my first broken heart, battles with anxiety, purpose & faith have risen through her low angled ceiling embellished with delicate drawings of sparrows that He never forgets.

This visit was my first one back as an adult with a child of my own. As I followed my daughter on wobbling legs through the small kitchen where the tea kettle was starting to sing, I was so grateful that this place had not changed.

I have changed in many ways since those porch days. Life has been better and harder than I would have guessed. Through all the changes, this home has been a constant place where I am most inspired to pursue my passions.

One of the notes on her mirror struck me:

Much of my life has been chasing to find the “one reason” never seeing that He had already found me. He was pursuing me in those early days, drawing on the porch, through those tears over a love that wasn’t meant to be, through my questions, and through my fears.

He has been calling to me through my desires. And He has waited patiently when the fulfillment of some desires overshadowed the Fulfiller. He has protected me in ways I perceived as withholding. He has loved me well when I had nothing but apathy.

I am grateful for this friend’s home because it is a marker of where I have been and a picture of where I hope to arrive someday. I hope to create a home and presence in this world that gives rest to others in ways it has been given to me.