The pantry boxes in the bedroom and the dish drainer in the bathroom are unsettling. My coffee shouldn’t be brewing on a closet organizer, my shoes shouldn’t be lost, and my dinners shouldn’t be microwaved.
Pieces of my brain are scattered with my belongings. Plaster chokes my asthmatic lungs, my muscles feel like jell-o. I just want a clean kitchen and a settled place to sleep.
But it’s okay because this microwave is not my kitchen.
It’s an adventure camping out. It’s rewarding smashing plaster, seeing height and light. This cramped 50s home holds potential to house the nicest kitchen I’ve ever had.
But for now I’m learning to receive more free dinners and help than I’ll ever deserve. I’m growing deeper with my husband while conquering this mess. I’m amazed by God’s gifts, the space, the location, the view.
Nourished green, cheerful wildflowers, timeless trees. The scene quiets me. Billowing gray swallows bright blue. Power makes me small. Beauty makes my heart ache for home.
This isn’t the paradise God intended. Mosquito bites and itchy grass interrupt the high. Beauty decorates brokenness like flowers at a funeral. Tears cloud the scene.
Perfect beauty is always out of reach because this world is not my home. Perfect dinners don’t happen because this microwave is not my kitchen.
Hope swells. It’s supposed to hurt. I’m not being weak and unrealistic. I’m just not home yet.
Relationships aren’t meant to be broken. My shoes aren’t meant to be lost. Pain is just as out of place as not being able to breathe in my own house. But it’s also just as temporary.
I will go home. This construction zone will turn into something beautiful.
The loneliness, the ache, the loss just remind me there’s something so much better coming. The pity would be if I thought microwaved dinners were the best to be had and this fitful love was the real thing.
If I felt at home with piles of plaster and lumber, you should pity me. But you don’t because I’m making something beautiful.
If I settled for the patched-up emptiness, if I thought this was the happiest I’d get, I should be pitied most of all. But every empty feeling reminds me how much better home will be. The ache will explode with satisfaction. And I’ll realize all of earth was just a microwave.