a vision

part the second

27 OCTOBER 2024

Dear Jaclyn,

Are there visions that capture your imagination? As a kid I made playhouses everywhere I went. An old chickenhouse at my grandparents’ farm became a bakery. A tree crook was a lookout tower. A dirt hole was a root cellar stocked with provisions. An empty tool shed was a schoolroom. The corner of the yard behind a juniper hedge was a zoo and laboratory wrapped into one. Where others saw bunkbeds and couch cushions, I saw forts and palaces. Not long after we moved here I wrote about a vision:

When you look at this photograph, what do you see?

Maybe you notice the siding is mismatched, or that the landscaping has been neglected. If you go inside the house you might see that almost everything is in need of updating. I’d wager that each person sees it a little differently, but I doubt anyone sees it the same way I do.

When I picture our house, I envision all of its potential. I see the end result: a house of dreams. I smile at the gorgeous navy blue siding with white trim and a red door, a banistered porch, and snug modern windows. Inside, all the rooms are finished, crisply painted, organized to rival IKEA (but with a more Velveteen-Rabbit-worn-loveliness). The kitchen looks more like Bag End than Better Homes and Gardens. Our daughter’s bedroom is a wistful castle, with a secret door in the wardrobe, and shelves stuffed with books. Much of the decor is handmade and practical, but every single detail is part of a grand story. Don’t even get me started on the basement rec room, or the orchard, or the flock of sheep.¹

Then I mused over the rough edges, peeling paint, and less than optimal functionality of human beings. Perhaps, I wondered, we ourselves are undergoing remodeling. Does our salvager fret about the leaky faucet or smudged window pane? What if there’s a glorious plan to bring all of our idiosyncrasies to a perfect fruition? Are you a stately manor, sea-sprayed bungalow, cloud-wrapped chalet, comfy cozy cottage, or ruddy log cabin? Could it be the one who ransomed us no longer sees our dirt or dilapidation—but sees what we will be?

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He has made everything beautiful in its time. —Ecclesiastes 3:11

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The now and the not yet douse all our days. After a decade’s worth of changes, I look around and even now things look ripe for improvement. A list lingers on our chalkboard wall, and in my journal I keep transferring the same tasks from one quarterly refill to the next. Projects are planned, postponed, started, stopped, rerouted, waylaid, canceled, or delayed indefinitely. The siding is done, but the kitchen goes without trim. The basement has been resealed, but there’s still a gap under the front door. The electric line was buried (at last), but the pellet stove broke and the radiators languish and the plumbing corrodes. The restorations and repairs continue. Although the before and the after fascinate me, and while I’ll never refuse a side by side comparison, I have to admit that we live in the messy middle. We are caterpillars in chrysalises, and yet, someday is embedded right here in today. Now is a beautiful place to be.

1. We’ve only ventured as far as free-range chickens so far.