By Sarah Kovac
I live in an old house. Not Pinteresty-vintage old, but paint-chipped-slant-floored old. When we bought this place, I imagined the peeling baby blue trim would soon be replaced with a fresh coat of a classy grey. We plotted about how we’d remodel the partially-finished basement. We priced screen doors and light fixtures and deck construction, but there was never the time. There was never the money. There was never the energy. We settled in seven years ago and still haven’t painted most of the walls, which, thanks to my aversion to decorating, are largely barren.
This is far from our dream house. But it has certainly housed our dreams. I have the sneaking suspicion that one day, I’ll drive down this street for old time’s sake and my heart will break a little as I remember being up all night with my son for the first time. I’ll remember him jumping down the stairs like Superman and Daddy flying him through the living room, Iron Man style. I’ll remember our races for the front door to watch every ambulance that would drive by, and I’ll remember praying with him for whoever the ambulance was on its way to help. I’ll remember the day we brought home his little sister and the elation in his eyes when he’d perch on the arm rest beside me to touch her soft, black hair. I’ll remember the beautiful life we were given in this imperfect house on this imperfect street in this imperfect town.
This house will never be on the cover of Better Homes and Gardens, but within it so much beauty has been lived. So many priceless memories and such a rich part of our lives has been experienced here… the ugly trim and barren walls will be something we will remember fondly.
Some days I feel like this house. Broken-down, in need of so much work. Work I should have done but haven’t. Sometimes I fear I’ll be unfit for any sort of real purpose until I tidy my life up. Could God really use such a fixer-upper as me?
God promised me life, and an abundant one, at that. I wonder… what if I don’t need a tidy life for his promises to be true? What if I never “arrive”? What if his promises are not to be earned, but only accepted?
His promises are for me. For you. As flawed as we may be, he wants to use us. He wants to give us purpose, hope, a future. All he asks from us is the key. To fill us up, he needs access to our junk drawers. The closets piled with stuff we’ve shoved away when company was coming. The journals and the photo albums and the memories we’d rather forget. We must be filled to be fulfilled.
Dig out that key and be amazed at his creativity. Who needs Pinterest? You’ve got the Restorer of All Things knocking at your door.
Sarah Kovac is an inspirational speaker and author of the book, In Capable Arms: Living a Life Embraced by Grace. She lives with her husband and two children just outside of Kansas City, MO. Visit sarahkovac.com for more.