Our house is undergoing some much-needed renovations this Fall. The outside is receiving a paint job and the windows have been ripped out and replaced with new ones. Workers trek through the house with nail guns, Shop-Vacs, hammers, and planks of wood. Our front door remains open for most of the day, letting them come and go as they please until the job is finished.
“It’ll be a bit of a mess for a while,” one of the workers says to me as he looks up from the piece of wood he’s cutting for the window trim. My toddler is perched on my hip and my preschooler trails behind, both boys mesmerized by all of the commotion. “That’s alright,” I smile. “It’s the storm before the calm.” This is what I keep telling myself, anyway, as I step over electrical cords, sawdust and bits and pieces of insulation, while the sound of saws echo through the neighbourhood.
Like so many other events in my life, this renovation has something to teach me about the season that I am in. Somewhere in between preschool drop-offs and laundry and swimming lessons and dinner prepping I spend time thinking about where my passions lie, which interests to follow. It is slow and confusing and discouraging sometimes. To not really know where you are headed. But I have hope in the process.
I am in repair. My heart is a work in progress. There are changes God wants to make in me that require patience, faithfulness, courage. This belief alone — to trust that His hand is on my life — is something I need to fight for. There’s always a pull to doubt God. Someone, or something, is always trying to fuel my disbelief and convince me that what I cannot see does not exist.
For that, I need to keep my butt planted in the chair of faith. I’m constantly reminding myself that hindsight, not my present-sight, is 20/20.
I need to rest in knowing that now I can only see in part, but then I will see in full.
How easy it is to think I should be where someone else is, to feel like I am missing out on life’s goodness because of what others are experiencing. But when I see life as a journey of seasons, comparing mine to others is not helpful, it doesn’t even make sense. Not every house requires a renovation at the same time. My neighbours painted their house last year, others won’t need to until next year. It doesn’t matter what God is asking from my spouse, my neighbour, my friend. My concern should be with what He is asking of me.
Right now I am being challenged to put more of my focus and energies into connecting with God. My heart has heard him say, “Come and talk with me”. I know what I need to do because He’s already told me — seek Him and remain in Him.
For me this means opening my Bible more. Searching out other books that will help me grow. Carving out space to write through the changes. Talking through them. Listening.
We need to allow God to transform us. So we unlock the door. Push some things aside. And make room for the new.
Aren’t renovations always about being okay with the mess, the chaos, the discomfort, because we’ve put our hope in the restoration? In the glory of the finished product? My new windows are not even fully finished yet but already the rooms are brighter, fresher.
The change is beautiful.