My dad
stopped by my work this week. He does
this quite frequently. Sometimes I drop everything and chat with him and
sometimes I busily and distractedly ignore him.
This
week we actually talked. We chatted about homes and money and possessions.
Specifically we chatted about “more.” My dad has lived in his 960 square foot
house in a modest suburb for 37 years. He had the little house built in 1977
and I lived there with him and my mom for my first 18 years. I made lots of
memories in that little house and in that little yard and that little driveway
and that little neighborhood. I don’t remember thinking “man this house isn’t
enough” growing up. Maybe I did and can’t remember. It was probably on a Sunday
morning when all three of us were trying to get ready for church at the same
time in our one bathroom. The same thing happens in my own small house, in my
own modest neighborhood in our one small bathroom when all five us are trying
to get ready at the same time on Sunday mornings. I am certain that I make more
death threats and have more evil thoughts on Sunday morning before church than any
other time of the week. It’s frustrating.
I
watch HGTV, I do Pinterest, I follow home organization pages, I draw plans at
home on how to make my house bigger and better and more efficient. I go through
spells of house hunting. I drive my husband bonkers. Shoot, I drive me bonkers.
My dad
said something the other day that stopped me in my tracks. It’s nothing that I
haven’t heard from all sorts of places but on this particular day at this
particular time, it was what I needed to hear. He said, “Angela (my step mom)
and I would love to have a place out in the country somewhere. We’d love to
have a place where we could spread out and the dog could run but at our age”…then
he stopped and backtracked as if his dear younger wife was in the room
listening and said, “Well Angela’s younger than I am but still...this place is
paid for and we don’t have to worry about being in debt up to our eyeballs at
our age with a mortgage.”
“Sure
we’d love to have a bigger place,” he said.
“Who wouldn’t?”
And
this is where what he said completely resonated with me.
“Sometimes
you just have to stop wanting bigger and better and just be thankful for what God
has blessed you with.”
Wow.
Totally simple. Nothing I haven’t heard a thousand times before.
But
profound for me at that moment nonetheless.
My little
house is full of children and animals and Kool-Aid spills and muddy paws and
dog hair and ponytail holders and dryer sheets (I swear those dryer sheets multiply
in the dryer) but it’s busting at the seams with friends and family and laughter
and love. And instead of constantly wishing I have a bigger house or a more extravagant
vehicle or designer duds, I need to start being more grateful for what God has
blessed me with. That doesn’t mean settling. Nope. The complete opposite
actually. It means that I have so much to be grateful for and I need to stop
being a brat and embrace it and savor every morsel of my little house and my
modest neighborhood and my one bathroom and my LIFE.
(Ok, I’m
never going to be satisfied with that one bathroom. What? I’m a girl.)
