Hampton House

My blog post lately have been a little on the heavy side. So I am going to lighten things up a little with the story of my house. It's probably not very interesting to anyone but those who know me (and love me), so feel free to navigate away from this page at any time.

Before moving to Joplin last summer, Dave and I looked at more houses and apartments than we had time for, even spending three exhausting and fruitless days during his parents' 50th wedding anniversary and family reunion. We found this house on the very last day of that search, with only a month to go until the big move. The pictures we had found online left a lot to be desired, but it was within our budget, it had four bedrooms, and we didn't have time to be picky. Walking in for the first time, Dave and I were instantly impressed. We were able to see past the old-chewed up Wrigley's gum colored walls and the teal and white striped wallpaper in the bathroom. It had beautiful hardwood floors, original fixtures in the bathroom, and crystal doorknobs throughout the house. There are so many things I would like to do to make it our own ; its imperfections are many, but I have found that the imperfections are what give a home its character.

The Exterior
The part of the house that I like the least. I would desperately like to lose the green all-weather carpet on the steps, but when I tried to remove it I realized there was a four inch gap between the house and the steps. That's an expensive fix so I've decided for now to embrace green all-weather carpet. We may temporarily compromise and switch to brown all-weather carpet down the line. Less conspicuous.

The sun porch was built as an exterior porch and we would someday like it to return to its original function. Because most of the time, this room looks something like this:

Dining Room


Kitchen- second least favorite thing about the house. Budget may never allow a total kitchen makeover, but I would like to paint the cabinets, lose the border, replace the couter tops, and change out the hardware someday. Needs more counter space. Right now, I use my old chest of drawers as an island. Besides that, it's a pretty functional, cozy little kitchen.The technology center in our kitchen. I use this Willow House fruit basket as an office caddy.

Sun porch off the kitchen. This is where we eat all of our meals, play, and do crafts. But only in warm weather. This room had snow drifts during last winter's blizzard. I love all the light from the windows on three sides of the room and how it's surrounded by trees. I wish we could use it year round.

Family room. Pretty standard. The bookcase is gift from Dave's parents. It has been ours since we've been married, but this is the first time we've lived close enough to bring it home. I love it!

Hallway. Note the small white door on the right. Nevermind, it's covered by the big, white door. Anyhow, it's the laundry chute. This is maybe one of my favorite things about this house. I love throwing laundry down the chute and pretending it has disappeared forever.

This is our only functional bathroom. And I really don't mind sharing. Talk to me again about this ten years from now when I have two teenage girls. The best thing about this bathroom is its original hexagon tile pattern and the cute built-in vanity.



Bath toy purgatory


Sadie's bedroom. We store most of the girls' toys in the armoire that we bought at a second hand store in Eufaula. There are lots of things I'd like to do with Sadie's room, but we're still on the fence about putting the girls in the same room.Amelia's room. I love the color of this room. And the window seat. And the built- in desk and glass front display cabinet. We let her choose which room she wanted because she's the oldest, and she got the best deal in the house. Don't tell Sadie.

Sam's room is the best color, though it's hard to tell from this picture. It's a very muted sage green. Very soothing. It's also the only bedroom currently with hardwood floors. If the girls ever share a room, we'd like to make this an office and put Sam in Sadie's room. Dreams...

We love our bedroom. It's the only upstairs room in the house (the stairway is behind a door in the dining room) and we have kind of liked having some distance from the kiddos. They have a little bit of a hike to try and get in bed with us at night. Also, because it's upstairs, once I go down for the day, I usually never make it back up so the bed very rarely gets made. I used to be a stickler for bed making. Oh well.


and....Hope you enjoyed the tour. The good, the bad, and everything in between.

Thirteen Hours and a Million Miles Away

This time last year, I was in a car somewhere between Memphis and Little Rock, a car packed full of moving van leftovers, two tired little girls, a long suffering husband, two Beta fish, and my six months pregnant self. This time last year, that car had Alabama plates and my girls still dropped the occasional "Yes, ma'am" or "No, sir." This time last year, I felt scared and alone, uncertain of the future and sad for what I was leaving behind.

In the past year, so much has changed: new house, new job, new church, new schools, new baby, new friends. These things are blessings.

In the past year, there has been loss. And lots of it. I don't have any theological perspective on that right now.

I have done a lot of looking back over the past 12 months. I will admit that I am glad to finally be in a place that when I play the "Where Was I a Year Ago" game, I will find myself here, in Joplin. When I wake up tomorrow, I will remember signing loan documents. And meeting Sallie at the house that she and a small task force lovingly cleaned and painted for us. I will remember buying Subway for the moving crew and how beautiful the paint colors (chosen in about five minutes at the Eufaula Wal-Mart) actually looked on the walls. I will remember the girls' excitement (short lived as it was) over the prospect of sharing a room for the first time. And I will remember the hot, musty smell that came with our sweet, old house. With the return of the summer heat, it smells like that again. I love it.

Looking back can be a great thing, but unchecked, it can and will drain today of its joy. I don't want to live in Alabama anymore. Not because it's not a great place to be, or because I don't like the people, or even because its average summer temperature is just slightly lower than the temperature of the sun (you get used to it). It's because it's time to stop living there when I no longer live there. And it's because I have a new home. A wonderful home. I have had it for a while now; it's time to lean in to it, as my friend would say. There is joy to be found here.

Stripped

The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon Me...
To comfort all who mourn, To console those who mourn in Zion,
To give them beauty for ashes, The oil of joy for mourning,
The garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness;
That they may be called trees of righteousness,
The planting of the LORD, that He may be glorified.
Isaiah 61:1-3

Driving through Joplin last week, I was startled by the way in which the landscape had significantly changed over the course of the past month. Mountains of rubble (in many places) are now clean concrete slabs. The trees, mangled with sheet metal and stripped bare, have been taken down. The abandoned carcasses of homes have disappeared one by one, devoured by monstrous machines and deposited in a landfill outside of town. Entire neighborhoods have simply ceased to exist. Wiped away. Wiped clean. Waiting.

For the families who have lost homes, I have heard that this part of the process has been both excruciating and cathartic. For the volunteers who have been helping to clear the rubble and take down trees, the work has been backbreaking and tedious in the ruthless summer heat. For those who were the first to clear their properties, the waiting game for building permits is agonizing and frustrating. Because before you rebuild, you have to tear down. And the tearing down is not yet finished. The work is slow. It hurts. It is hard to see beyond the emptiness. And for a season, we have to live there. In the emptiness, in the void, with the pain. For a season.

The conversation is beginning to turn towards restoration. At an open forum last week, residents were invited to share their vision of the new Joplin. In the paper, I read that one long-time Joplin resident wanted the city to be rebuilt exactly as it was before the storm. Good or bad, there is immense comfort in the familiar, the known, the way it was before. But it will never be the same. It can't be the same. Because in this season of emptiness, with its clean concrete slabs and treeless open fields, a vision will take shape. It will not be like it was before. It will be better. Because death is not the end. Destruction is not the end. The trees, stripped of their bark, stripped of their leaves, stripped of their beauty, will be replanted. The city will be rebuilt.