Does my House own my Heart?

Christmas Lights

A few months ago, I had to find the perfect couch for our living room.  Any spare moment, I would whip out the ipad and search online.  I made pinterest boards.  I found other pieces of furniture that we just had to have.  I was obsessed.

I was tired of our house looking like a bunch of college guys lived in it: mismatched, hand-me down chairs; ancient tables falling apart; the Kramer on the mantle (though I still think that is kinda fun).  I am nearing 30.  I have a child.  I should have grown-up furniture.

There was a time when I didn’t care about furniture.  When we rented our tiny duplex, the mismatched chairs were charming, the ancient table a family heirloom, the Kramer — just a kitschy piece of our personality.  If I didn’t have the right curtains or the right piece of furniture there, I didn’t care.  It wasn’t our forever home.  What we had was good enough.

But as soon as we bought a house, what we had was suddenly not good enough anymore.  I spent countless hours online and in Home Depot and Home Goods finding rugs and curtains and couches.  I was a bit whiney and extremely agitated until we got the perfect rug or the right couch for upstairs.  But it didn’t seem to end.

I was itching for more, until one day I realized that my house had taken over valuable real estate in my heart.  I was so focused on prettying up my house that I had no room in my heart for others in need.  I was the one who needed…another pillow cushion for the couch.  I realized that Matthew 6:21 was right: “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”  I didn’t want to be the kind of person whose heart was focused only on the material.  My discontent was becoming all of me.

So I stopped searching on the internet.  I started repurposing furniture we already had.  I started to see our mismatched furniture as quirks of our personality.  I started to be thankful for the fact that we have a house and furniture.  Somewhere in all the blessings I was given, I had forgotten to be grateful.

I am grateful now.  And ashamed — not for wanting a nice house with pretty things, but for allowing my house to own me instead of the other way around.


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