A Little House With a Story

One of my favorite things about our little home is the stories behind almost every single thing inside of it. I think about when we first moved in and my cousins came over to help us paint in the August heat. I can still see my cousin Tony, who passed away tragically from cancer not even a year later, painting our living room with sweat just dripping down his sweet face. He was always there when you needed him, and with the happiest heart.

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Every single time I wash a load of clothes, I thank God for our friends who gave us a perfectly good washer and dryer, saving us from a huge expense, meeting a very real need in our lives when we purchased our home. It’s the same kind of story with our vacuum cleaner, which was given to us by a cousin who never asked for anything in return, but simply met a need he saw with a happy, willing heart. The way Grayson has worked so hard on our yard, transforming it from having literally almost no grass at all, to having pretty green grass that he’s so proud of.

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Instead of being frustrated that we’ve been married for almost a year and a half and still don’t have a couch, I love that our two mismatched love seats came from sweet friends who gave them to us out of the goodness of their hearts, never expecting a penny in return. The end tables in the living room we spontaneously bought on sale at an antique mall and crammed into my little Toyota Camry along with us and two dogs (still not sure how we managed that, but we did). The coffee table that my friend gave us, that she drove down to Myrtle Beach to pick up a few years before from friends who were moving, even though she didn’t need it for herself, just in case she heard of someone who needed it one day (and it just so happened to be Grayson and me). The beautiful white mirror hanging in our living room that we got from the old homeplace of a precious lady at our church who passed away, whose husband wanted her things to go to younger women in the church who loved her (since they didn’t have any daughters) before a single thing was donated to strangers. The pretty things all over our walls that were either wedding gifts, or things I picked up along the way, all the while with the desire to make our home a place of peace and comfort and belonging.

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The stories behind the things are what matter to me, far more than the things themselves. And my prayer for Landon’s nursery all along has been that it be no different – I wanted it to reflect the same love that I can feel surrounding us in the rest of our home. His nursery is not finished yet, but it already has so many sweet stories to tell. I think about Grayson’s sister and Momma coming and spending an entire Saturday painting while I was at the beach so that his room would be one step closer to being ready. The white wicker furniture and crib that were in the nursery my Momma brought me home to almost 24 years ago, that will soon be holding my own little boy. The drawers full of beautiful clothes that have come from showers, hand-me-downs, and some are even Grayson’s that his Momma saved for his babies one day, that my Momma has spent countless hours helping me sort through. The antique pedestal table that I had been searching for, and finally put a request for ideas where to find one on Facebook, only to have a dear friend text me within minutes, saying she had one I could have and she’d bring it over, again refusing to take a penny in return for it. The pillow that my sweet friend made us. The comfy chair where I will snuggle and feed our little boy that we were able to get for a fraction of the price, even finding money that we received as a wedding gift just in time to spend it on something so special.

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It’s my heart’s desire that this little home of ours continues to be a house with a story, and that these walls hold more laughter, more sweet memories, and more of Jesus’ presence.

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