The Starter of the Stories

 I had planned to tell you all about our Easter, but alas, I haven't had a chance to go through all the pictures yet, nor have I had time to sit and really think about the day, so I'll save that for another day!

Meanwhile, I had another thought I wanted to share, so I'll write about it today.

I follow a handful of Instagram accounts of people who have restored or are restoring old farmhouses. I have learned the very real and important distinction between renovating and restoring homes. I have followed along as some couples have taken painstaking efforts to peel back layers of walls, ceiling, and flooring in their homes to uncover the original design and materials. I've learned that they want to find original older pieces that would have been consistent with the age of their home and use those things, rather than renovating to update.

One of those writers said something a while back that caught my attention, and I've thought about it over and over as we have begun this new season of our lives.

She talked about cooking in their restored kitchen, which is beautifully reminiscent of the time period in which their home was built, and she said she sometimes thinks about all the meals cooked in that very room by the woman who lived there when the home was first constructed. She imagined the memories made, the stories told, and the meals prepared. Her goal, she said, was to honor the home and the memories made there by restoring life to what it used to be.

I probably don't need to tell you how much the storyteller in me loved that, right?

With much joy, I realized that I had experienced this in even greater proportion when I lived in my grandparents' home for the first sixteen years of my adult life. I learned to prepare and host meals in the same kitchen where my grandmother hosted every family everything for her whole life. I didn't have to imagine the memories of that tiny kitchen, because I remember a good number of them. (And I've heard the stories of so many more!) 

I thought about that post again as we began our move to our new home, which is not just new to us, but it is actually brand new. A little corner of my heart twinged, knowing that there are no old stories here to imagine - or to know for certain.

But then a beautiful realization settled over me: I am the starter of the stories.

We are the first people to ever live here. Every meal we host, every prayer we pray, every piece I write, every guest we welcome - they're all the start of a legacy. 

How many times in life do we get to be the start of a legacy? 

The storyteller in me sits poised to capture these stories for future generations. It feels like a grand gift has been handed to me - to us. We are the starters of the stories. 

Our prayer is that this home will be a place where all who enter feel God's presence deeply and know they are welcomed and loved.

We welcome the stories God wants to write in this place.