The Decisions

This past month has been a series of on-the-spot rapid-fire decisions. I am usually pretty good at this – I know what I want and I trust my instinct. However, halfway through the month, I felt my brain fogging up from multitasking all the decisions and suddenly I couldn’t make a single decision right or left. The thought process would go somewhat like: “I have always wanted this… but maybe I want that… what if I don’t really like this… what if I ultimately prefer that???”… followed by a frantic Pinterest search to confirm what I originally wanted anyways. The painter would be on the other line purchasing paint and I would be Instagram searching for the perfect white; the bathroom plumber would be installing the trim, as I am ordering a new color sink… all in between work and lunch breaks and after work and late night hours. It has been slightly more than chaos… as we predicted it would be.

Something to note about the Enneagram 3 is that we often lose sight of our heart’s desire when overwhelmed with voices telling us what we should do. We are pleasers who hate to disappoint; we are achievers who will never settle for less than best. In the quest for the Best and the commitment to adapting to every other persona and situation we find ourselves in (in order to feel safe and loved), we lose touch with ourselves. We forget our identity and our preferences. I have repeatedly wrestled with this process – I initially know what I want, but then others’ ideas cause me to doubt – but I ultimately end up exactly where I started.

Somewhere along the way, I learned to trust my inner voice and trust God telling me who I was. It is when I lose sight of Him that I get drowned in the sea of pleasing. It is when I let decisions about walls and floors dictate my day that I stray from the Truth of my identity. I am only found in Him; He is the Rock that helps me recognize who I am and where I am going. When I center my day on Him, wake up with a grateful heart and an eagerness for Him to speak, I am able to see it all so clearly.

On Saturday, we move. The quick decisions will be over. I will sit in the house and picture the space and daydream about the best piece for every corner. There will be time. Even after the baby comes, there will be time. A home is a process and a work in the making; it is one that is never fully complete because there is always The Next. 

As Ben has said, right now we have a House – but tomorrow we will make it a Home. Despite doorknobs and cabinet colors, Ben and I there together is all that really matters. Because Home is where we are together.

Then and Now

In the months leading up to my 8^th grade graduation, I remember looking around my room at night dreaming about what it could look like flipped and re-designed.

Although I loved my purple horse border with pink polka-dot accents, the lacey pillows, and dollhouse in the corner, I also felt the early quakes of a transition resonating deep within me; a new season approaching as I moved from middle school to high school, preempting the desire for something slightly more “grown-up.” I laid awake as sketches floated through my mind, dreams of demo-ing the peach-toned built-ins, shifting my bed to a new corner, and making space for a real dresser with an attached mirror. These are the things that kept me up at night and the only thing I could fixate on for months.

When my parents jumped on board, the Demo began – and also the tears. Seeing my bedroom ripped to shreds and sleeping on the floor of my brothers’ room was not in my vision of Room Updating. One night as my dad was sledgehammering down the shelves that previously housed the horse figurines and American Girl Dolls of my youth, I ran across the hall and cried to my mom, heaving out phrases of how this was a huge mistake – I never should’ve redone my room because now it was ruined! I would inevitably be sleeping on the floor of my brothers’ room for life because there was no way it would ever be accomplished. In this moment, she patiently sat me down and reassured me that the construction phase is the hardest part and understandably difficult, but once it gets finished, the vision comes alive. In my “this is forever” mindset, she reminded me that it might feel like that now, but it has to get worse before it gets better.

I have returned to this moment over and over and over again – through Texas moves and Chicago home redesigns – my two San Diego homes and most recently our Hubbard Home fixer phase. Learning to deconstruct in order to reconstruct has allowed me to absorb the process and even learn to enjoy it. As an organized-Type A-recovering-perfectionist, this does not come natural to me. I want the Result – I want the perfect finish – I want everyone to see the beautiful. I don’t naturally stand in peaceful rest through the in-between because I doubt my decisions and second-guess the options in hopes of uncovering The Best.

And then I remember sitting in the mess of my 8^th Grade Room as tears flowed onto a bedspread of sawdust, gazing at my room construction site through blurry eyes, with a complete lack of hope in the ability for anything to be better. This despondent moment became one of great delight a few months later, as I chose colors and furniture and a new rug for my room. It all came together and the dream came to life and the construction zone was a thing of the past. When it was all finished, it seemed silly to think it ever felt impossible.

As we enter the season of becoming a family, it only makes sense to usher it in with full force – stripping a home to studs and building it back up allows us to leave the past season behind and embrace the change of the new. The timing feels significant in preparation for the learning curve that’s about to come with a newborn and family of three. It’s all scary, but it feels so right. I am filled with doubt, but also confidence. I hold onto the moments of my past to collect myself in deep breaths and remember this is meaningful work and it is leading somewhere. A bathroom that finally has tiles helps, too.

“Men are never duly touched and impressed with a conviction of their insignificance, until they have contrasted themselves with the majesty of God.”

// R.C Sproul, via Crazy Love by Francis Chan

There is a danger in getting wrapped up in My World right now… this chaotic, constant-decision-making, Pinterest-board-making, baby-transitioning world with its abyss of questions and unknowns. I agonize over floor colors and wake up at night after dreams of the roof caving in… I check the budget spreadsheets and timelines as little baby moves about beneath me, wondering if he will indeed have a home in 3 weeks. I watch as the piles of onesies and bottles grow on the bed of our guest room, unorganized and haphazardly tossed aside until they have a nursery to belong to and a baby to use them.

But then I stop. I take time to pause and breathe and look to God. I remember His Graciousness, His Love, His Majesty… and suddenly all these decisions feel minute in the scheme of His Greatness. He is with us and He has given us so much in this season – community, family, the gift of a new home and people to help us with it. He has been in every decision and has led us around every corner that felt blind and impossible. Yes, He cares about the details and the wonders of my heart… but He also is here claiming me as His, desiring for me to trust Him with all these things – to look to Him as He pulls me further into his grace. He knows the stress, but He asks for the gratitude.

The point of it all is always & forever His Glory. I want to remember that… I want to rest in the assurance that He holds the universe in His hands. I want to look at Him with a heart of unending Thank You’s  instead of complaints. I choose gratitude over fear and steadfastness over anxiety. Do I know that He is a good, good Father who brings delight to His children? I want my response to be one of resounding thanks for all He has given us in this season and for all that is to come. He is so so good.

Sometimes, it's the Pipes

When I initially considered the renovations for our Hubbard Home, it seemed so matter-of-fact: floors and paint. As long as we put in new floors and paint everything white, our home will be beautiful, livable, and feel close to new.

Fast forward to last week when our bathroom walls were stripped to studs and 2x4’s, exposing rotted pipes laying in the dirt, crumbled and corroded after 40+ years of minimal usage… suddenly it’s no longer Floors & Paint. It has now evolved into copper pipes, rerouted plumbing, and a deep trench of dirt and uprooted cement outside our home.

From the beginning, I dreaded tapping into the walls, fearful of what we might find there. I was afraid that perhaps there was more work needed that I simply wanted to ignore. Can’t we just focus the funds on the part that makes the house look good?! How bad can it be for bathrooms to drain into the dirt?! I focus so much on the aesthetic that I ignore the functionality of what lies within.

But what good is the beauty of the outside if the inside is rotting?!

While I want to focus on the light fixtures, flooring, brass accents, and subway tile, I forget that if the pipes aren’t working, all of that is useless. Our home could flood and our flooring could crumble; our kitchen could overflow and our bathrooms could back-up. All the crown molding and accent colors and gold hardware are useless at that point.

Walking with God isn’t something I can show-off or prove on the outside. He changes and refines our heart in a gentle, non-glamorous way. He renovates the functionality of how we work, instead of the pieces of us that others see. I get lost in appearance; I want to show who I am to the world without digging to the deeper, scary layers that lie behind. What am I scared of?!

If there’s anything I hope to give to our son, it’s a sense of power in vulnerability; a willingness to peel back the layers and explore the heart. A softness and grace towards his shadow, and a strength in his own weakness. I realize this is a discipline I have to first know within myself in order for it to be passed to him.

I hope to remember our lessons in these weeks of work within Hubbard Home. Because sometimes it’s more about the pipes than anything else.