I think most people these days want a perfect house.
With so many renovation shows, home magazines, and Pinterest-worthy living rooms surrounding us, a perfect home becomes an easy idol.
I find myself falling into this trap more often than I would like to admit. Thinking, “all I really want is bright white walls,” or “if only I could upgrade the coffee table,” or “once we live in a house with a screened-in porch I’ll be satisfied.”
Focusing on the aesthetics of and the stuff in our homes is an easy thing to do.
I stumbled upon this quote from JRR Tolkien the other day, and it so perfectly sums up what I want my house to be:
That house was a perfect house, whether you like food or sleep or story-telling or singing, or just sitting and thinking best, or a pleasant mixture of them all. Merely to be there was a cure for weariness, fear, and sadness.
Do I still want a beautiful home? Yes. Because I think the home is a place worthy of the time and energy it takes to make beautiful.
But not to the point to breed discontent, because more than a home's form is its function.
I want my house to be a cure for weariness, fear, and sadness. A place to do the things we love to do, to host others, and mostly a place to be together.
And that - more than white paint and subway tile - is what really makes it perfect.