I’m sure many of you know the feeling. You move into a house (for us, a VERY old house), and although you loved it on your initial walkthrough, and maybe you checked it out one more time if you came to the home inspection, the moment you get the keys and actually walk in, it feels foreign and surreal, almost dream-like.
You pass through the door and it smells funny. Not bad, but not yours. Not the smell of your home. And it feels strange. The bathroom is to the left, not the right. The flooring, the windows. It’s all so . . . different. Yet you have that excitement tingling up your spine. Because you get to introduce yourself to this place. You get to honor its past, by loving on it and keeping watch over its future. Houses can be around for hundreds of years. We’re simply keepers. Loving on an old home as it protects us, and caring for it so it can keep on keeping on for the next generation that calls it home.
I’m not a huge fan of new
New has its place, and that’s all well and good. But there are far more old things out there that grab my attention. I don’t know how to properly explain it. Old . . . is soothing to me. It reminds me of my grandma, who would always stop at garage sales to find treasures. Or of my great-grandma, who would tell me stories of how it “used to be.” It ties and binds and grounds me. Giving me a sense of belonging. It causes me to respect and be mindful. Old connects me. If I ever lived in something enterally new, I think I’d feel a little broken, a little lost. As if I was cut off from the things that gave my life purpose and meaning. God truly built into my heart a desire to protect and care for old things.
Needless to say, when we went looking for our “new” home, I told our realtor, “I want a 100-year-old farmhouse.” I’m looking for a lady that needs some love and a caring hand. A house that was made with hope and dreams, built for a family to thrive, but has since been neglected and needs some tender loving care. I don’t want flashy, or modern. I want lived in, worn in, thrived in. A house that has crooked floors, slanted walls, and personality. A house that talks to me as I walk up its stairs. That shares her stories as I repair and mend her. She tells me tails, and I live a life within her walls. We’re a team. I wanted a girl that was already filled with memories, we are just adding to them.
And so we went hunting
For two years. We weren’t sure of the state, or the town, or the place, but we knew, we knew if we looked, and prayed, and looked some more, God would show us our lady. And yes, I call my house a lady. And she’s going to be grand and beautiful. Just you wait.
Because at two years and two months, God showed her to use, and we jumped. And goodness, what a ride it has been.
More to follow. Stay tuned. xoxo, Eryn 🙂