I hesitated to share this on my blog but, below my blog title, it reads:
{makeovers of the heart and hearth}
and sometimes makeovers don't end in pretty, colorful, slip-covered dream spaces
with light-filled rooms and gleaming hardwood flooring.
Sometimes makeovers aren't perfectly organized closets
with each bauble placed just so, labeled and placed in orderly rows
for all to "ooh" and "ahh" over and to be Pinterested.
Sometimes makeovers require looking under the furniture
and dragging out the hidden rubbish which has rotted a hole in the floor
because it's settled there too long.
Amidst the dust bunnies, old toys, a dirty sock, and a lone chocolate chip
reside secrets that life's foot has scooted under the chair in haste
before last year's Christmas party,
clutter that has been discretely tucked behind the couch,
that can no longer be camouflaged and that begs to be exposed.
Sometimes makeovers require digging everything out of those dark, dank closets
and spreading the debris and filth out over the floor
and sorting through each souvenir and forgotten trinket one by one.
My makeover doesn't involve paint and fabric swatches,
or pillows and throws.
This redesign involves my heart and useless knickknacks
that I have allowed to settle into each nook and cranny.
Recently I've had to make some decisions regarding my future
with my spouse, home, career, life.
It's a decision that was a choice according to the Word of God
(and one recommend by many wise counselor friends).
However, I have been judged, criticized, questioned, and abandoned
by some of (or at least whom I thought to be) my closest friends.
I'm not too hard on those people.
I've forgiven them, actually,
but it's been painful.
Life's hit me in the face.
It's grabbed me by the wrist and twisted my arm behind my back
and forced me to look at myself and my mess,
the mess that others have left for me to clean up,
the mess that I need to let the others clean up for themselves.
It's held me firmly by the chin and held my face still, until I opened my eyes
long enough to look squarely into this mess that can no longer be overlooked.
I have long compared my heart to a home,
a sentiment that's proven to be true.
Ephesians 2:22 reads:
"And because you belong to Him, you too are being built together.
You are being made into a house where God lives through His Spirit."
My heart home is not mine.
It is His.
My "before" picture is hideous.
I require a new layout, floor plan, and arrangement.
I am a designer, organizer, and homemaker, but I need the Master Designer.
I will willingly submit my mess to the sovereign Re-arranger,
the supreme Organizer, the superior Homemaker.
I believe that, what I have let fall into disrepair, He will rebuild.
I believe that He will restore harmony and order to this chaotic place.
I am positive that, with His help,
the walls will get patched, the rugs beaten clean, and the furniture moved.
Since my eyesight is poor, I'll need to hold up
each cruddy trinket I find for Christ to scrutinize.
I'll wait for His look of disgust or nod of approval
to know if it is a trinket worthy of keeping or of tossing.
The KEEP pile will hold all truths reflecting His likeness:
love, redemption, grace, peace, and holiness.
The TOSS pile will be heaped with all delusions reflecting His opposite:
judgment, hatred, guilt, fear, worry, and sinfulness.
I'll hold open the trash bags as he fills it with the garbage that I've saved.
I'll call his 1-800-GOT-JUNK hotline, and the useless decor I have hoarded
will be removed and be tossed into the back of His dump truck
and disappear down the street and around the corner,
never to be seen again.
Most days, I don't understand the builder's instructions.
He is the only one who can make any sense of this blueprint;
after all, he is the one who drafted it.
I am confused by his methods
but I trust that He will see me through to completion.
He will make my heart home beautiful
in His time.
I probably won't be posting for a while.
I am on hiatus for healing.
God has made everything beautiful for its own time.
He has planted eternity in the human heart,
yet they cannot fathom the work that God has done
from the beginning to the end.
Ecclesiastes 3:11
Imparting Grace at Richella's: