Painted Red

**My Internet is down, Reader-Friends :( I'm posting this from the boyfriend's parent's house, but when it decides to work again, I will be catching up with all of your wonderful posts! Here's one I have been trying to post for days.**

I was sitting outside when my attention was drawn to the trees in my yard. My family moved into this house when I was on the late side of four years old.  There are a few particular trees that we planted ourselves and a few that were just babies when we got here. Sixteen years later, they are huge, and full, and just gorgeously vibrant with summer green. It’s happened more than once, but I just gaze at these wonders and ask myself: when did that happen?

I start looking at my house too. We live in a very pretty wooded little neighborhood. Everyone has their own little piece of land; there is community, yet privacy. Mama reflects on coming out to Hernando to view the house for sale. As she and daddy drove past cute home after cute home, the anticipation built inside her heart…and then collapsed. The guy selling the house was going through a divorce and totally let the house go. The yard was terribly groomed and there was an awful yellow color on the house that matched the barn in the back yard. Don’t get me started on the cancer infecting the interior of the house. Anyway, Mama’s magic hands have touched almost every inch of this little estate over the years-piece by piece, because we are very middle class people. The yard got some curb appeal, the barn is a bright red and the house is brick with a crisp white accent, and every room has had an update. Well, almost every room. The laundry room still has that hideous seventy’s tile that used to cascade into the kitchen and violently clash with the green and yellow plaid walls (which have been rescued by warm coat of red paint).  I’m kind of glad it’s still in that little room that no one pays much attention to, though. It’s a subtle reminder of how far this house has come. How ugly became beauty, falling apart house became warm and cozy home. When did that happen?

I just can’t come to terms with my age. I know everyone over twenty one is laughing because that sounds like such a mid-life-crisis statement, but I don’t mean it like that. I just mean when did I become a big girl? When did I start getting bills and thinking about where I’m going to get a job outside of serving food?

And I have been devoutly following Christ for nine years. And I have blossomed and matured in that department…and all of a sudden, when did that happen? Lately, I have been spending a lot of time in the laundry room. I mean that figuratively, of course. I have been noticing corners of, well, me that have some décor of the old me. Are you following this extravagant metaphor? It is okay if you’re not…most of you probably quit reading this nonsensical post paragraphs ago.

Anyway…

Seeing parts of the old me, hanging out in those rooms has made me think about where I came from…who spruced me up-made me beautiful-invested in me. Is there a point to all this jibberish? Not really. Just want to say I’m thankful for a Savior, for who he has made me, and for those who were apart of this whole growing process. AND I want to say that even though I have come such a long way, been painted with crimson just like those kitchen walls, I feel like I just took my first breath. I’m lost, completely uncertain of some things, and don’t want to be whimsical. I’m such a mess, people! A big messy pile of sin, oh and I do believe in God, and I do try to follow Jesus. But I just got to be honest, this estate, though you may think some rooms are pretty appealing, are still works in progress.

Well, that doesn’t look any more organized in print than it did in my head.

Blogging my Battles and Blessings,

Amber Marie