Making my home beautiful

I live in a parsonage.
That means I am always struggling to balance the fact that this is my home, but it is not my house.

Before my husband attended Seminary, we had always owned our own home. All of our married life was spent in homes that belonged to us, homes that we made payments on, homes that we put our financial equity in as well as our sweat equity.

I've spent most of my adult life living in a place that was wholly mine.

I don't mind not being responsible for all the maintenance and repairs, that part doesn't bother me a bit. But, during Seminary life, we were renters. It was never ours and it was always short term, always had an end date.

So, I didn't hang pictures on the walls, or paint, or decorate or care if it was beautiful. I found beauty in my children and my books instead.

But, now, we don't know how long we'll be here.

I think part of making a place feel like home is making it beautiful. But, everyone has their own idea of beautiful.

I think about this as I scrape through layer after layer of paint on the bathroom walls. It had started to peel, probably because of the humidity, and I had picked at the peeling paint. I couldn't help myself. I felt obligated to fix it. I planned to scrape just the loose bits and then paint the walls, but it kept coming off and every time I thought I was ready to paint, I would find another loose spot.

There are reds and greens and blues and creams and pinks and shades of grey. Some I think, oh I like that color and others I think oh my I wouldn't have chosen that. But, all of these colors and patterns were beautiful to someone at sometime. Now, it's my turn to choose what I think is beautiful.

We've been here for two and half years, and this will be the first time that I have had a chance to put some of myself into this space. It will never be my house, but maybe someday it will feel like home.