Insignificant Houses

I was born into the wrong family I think.  I have thought that most of my life.  My family is made up of unbelievably attractive and talented people.  I am the shortest girl in my family, and not in a petite way.  I am the only one of my cousins who is overweight or has ever struggled with their weight.  I was never a dancer, never a singer (although I pretended to be with my “Flashdance” album and a microphone everyday in my room).  I never made cheerleader (and I tried out twice), I never was on student council, was demoted to manager of the basketball and volleyball teams in junior high, was in the “mediocre” orchestra when I played the cello, made decent grades but nothing spectacular, like art but I’m not an artist, like to eat but I’m not a chef…I am just a typical girl.  I am funny.  That is the one thing I do really well, and a hard worker.  I’m friendly.  So, a friendly, hardworking funny girl.  I’m a great person to have around and I’m pretty darn likable. But not notable.  No.  I am not notable at all.  I have felt this way most of my life.  Insignificant.  Nothing much to offer, but a smile and a laugh and some elbow grease.  Funny and friendly can get you pretty far in life.  But I never missed it…I never missed that I was less than the rest…a consolation prize at best…the pretty girl’s friend…the one with a “good personality”.  The one you can count on.

I don’t say this for a pity party.  These are the facts folks.  I could post a picture of my family and you would see what stares me in the face every family Christmas card or family wedding photo, “Holy Cow!  Those are some really beautiful people…who is that chubby halfway decent girl?  She sticks out like a…well, she doesn’t stick out at all.” These are just the facts folks.

These people are not just pretty either.  They are talented too.  I mean, crap y’all!  I was born into a family of people who are the whole package.  Smart.  Thin.  Pretty.  Talented.  I can’t compete.  And so a long long long time ago, I learned to throw in a little self deprecating humor, and you know what, it worked.  Point it out to everyone before anyone can say it behind your back.  And we all laughed and laughed.  And I put myself in my place…the one at the fun table or the good conversation in the kitchen…because outside of that I knew I was insignificant.  And no one, I think, ever really caught on that I felt that way.  It is not something I had ever even talked to Jesus about…because if I was really really honest, I might have to tell you that I was pretty sure this was how He saw me too.  Insignificant.  Listen, I know the scriptures about how He knit me together in my mother’s womb, and knows every hair on my head and that He loves me…but you can still create and know and love an insignificant creation…

These are just the facts folks.

Atleast they have been the facts for a very long time for me.

But yesterday something crazy happened.  Something that hit a place so deep inside my heart that I was left speechless, and if you have ever had a conversation with me then you know I should pause here because a miracle took place.  A girlfriend of mine was over for coffee.  Sitting at my kitchen table.  Having one of those, share everything conversations.  Maybe it was the coffee.  Maybe it was the baby sleeping in my lap while we talked.  Whatever it was, I shared with her something I had only told a handful of people about up until now.  My house. You see, I have a recurring dream.  In this dream I am working on an old farmhouse.  It is perfect.  When I was 16 the dream started and it has happened about four times a year ever since.  We spent years cleaning the bedrooms upstairs.  Taking out bags of trash and lots of random fabric and finally saw the furniture underneath.  In college we redid the staircase.  For years we worked on that staircase in my dreams until it was perfect.  We have redone all the hardwood floors which was crazy hard work.  We worked on the outside for a few years.  Planted my favorite type of tree by the kitchen window.  Then we gutted the kitchen and put in countertops, and made it open and just a great space…changed almost everything except for the big farmhouse sink.  And lately in my dream I have been making spaghetti in the kitchen and looking out my kitchen window.  I have come to love this house in my dream.  Actually, I have to tell you that I have always loved it even when it was a rundown mess.  The house is just the type of house for me…it’s my dream house…an old farmhouse on a lot of land with a heap load of character.

 

It’s not so much how this house looks that makes me love it when I dream about it, it’s the way I feel when I’m in it.  I feel so comfortable.  So happy.  So content.  I’m always barefoot.  I can always feel that there is a family in this house, although I never see them.  It’s always peaceful and calming.  There is always work to be done, but I always love doing it.  This dream has never been fancy or overdone.  It’s just this great house, and I love being in it.  It’s a funky color of green too which I love and I could write you a novel on the front porch…This house is perfect.

 

 

As I told my friend about my house, and she listened, and I told her about all my recurring dream renovations and she listened more intently, and I told her about how I felt in the house and how happy it made me and how I hoped I would find that house for real someday, she spoke words over my life that brought an unexpected avalanche of tears…

“Jackie, YOU are the house.”

“Jackie, Jesus has been working on you and rebuilding and refinishing and gutting and taking out trash and planting and painting…He has worked on floors and stairways…And now you’re in the kitchen... in the heart of the house…and it is good.”

And all of a sudden I had this crazy moment of clarity.  If I am the house and I love working on this house and I love the way it looks and the crazy color and the imperfections and I loved refinishing the floors because I just plain love this house…so comfortable…so happy there…so perfect…Then, what if…

Jesus loves me the way I love that house.

There is not a detail in my house that is insignificant to me.  There is not a room I don’t love, a square inch without my consideration.  The little kitchen window over the kitchen sink makes me smile.  The floor feels so good beneath my feet.  The banister of the stairway is smooth and cold.  I love my house because it is MINE. 

“But now this is what the Lord says- he who created you,

O Jacob, he who formed you,

O Israel: ‘Fear not, for I have redeemed you;

I have summoned you by name;

You are mine.” Isaiah 43:1

And I have to wonder…what if I am just the way Jesus wanted me in the first place.  What if He decided my hair would be super duper straight,t perfect for a million last minute ponytails, and my height would be the perfect height to hug my husband tight.  What if He knew that someday I would jog to battle my weight and it would be some of the best prayer times of my life.  What if He knew that He didn’t need me to be the prettiest or the smartest, He just needed me to know I was His and that when He looked at me He didn’t see “the best” He saw His masterpiece.  His perfection.  The way I love that farmhouse…perfectly perfectly mine…no detail left to chance.

So, if you stand where I stand, in the shoes of an insignificant girl.  If you have ever wished to be just a little more noticeable.  If you have ever wanted a few blue ribbons.  If you have ever watched a talent show in awe of other people.  If you have ever looked in the mirror and saw only the “B-Team”.  If you have ever waited for someone to want to sit at your table or compliment your clothes or tell you that you are the pretty girl or discover the hidden, amazingly talented dancer inside of you, or just notice that you were there at all:

He formed you.

He redeemed you.

He summoned YOU by name.

YOU are HIS.

Significantly, Beautifully, Amazingly, Perfectly His.