Lately I've been feeling like we only halfway live in our little apartment.
We have a complete set of bedroom furniture, but our Ansel Adams prints are waiting to be hung. A beautiful print of the Old Well in the spring and our diplomas sit on the floor or our office. Books overflow off a makeshift bookcase onto the floor. In the living room, the mantle is filled and a mirror is hung, but the frame with snapshots from our wedding is tucked behind a chair. Our tiny, screened porch is empty except for two folding, Harris Teeter chairs.
I keep telling myself that we haven't had the time to put things where they belong or create the space we want. But we've been here for 7 months now. And the reality is that something in me doesn't want to settle here. Something in me really believes we won't stay long. This is merely a resting place on the way to our real home.
Every bone in this little body of mine yearns for a house. A place where I can host dinner parties for more than four. A place where I can hang something without worrying about how many holes I've already put into the walls. A place with an extra corner or ledge to hold my latest project.
And I convince myself that when we move, I will take the time to make our house a home. We will settle in, stay for a while and I will be content.
But planning for someday makes me likely to miss the magic of the moment that is happening right now. Living with my foot out, ready to take the next step, robs me of the joy that overflows in the place I stand right now.
So stay tuned. It really will be a challenge to find the time these days, but I aim to be intentional about creating a comfortable place for our little family of two. I can already see the lovely living space our porch is begging to be.
This is our home. I think it's time we settle in.