Dwelling

I think it was in the tiny apartment on the troubled block when I first began thinking about the idea of dwelling. The neighborhood had a higher crime rate than any I’d ever lived in and, I confess, I cried on move-in day. We hauled our boxes up the stairs, no elevator, past the wild-eyed woman who sat on them all day, past the guy who dealt the drugs another floor up. I wasn’t calmed by the sound of gunshots in the street at night, nor by the loud fights in our stairwell.

And what I began to think about was how out-of-control circumstances can feel suffocating, except when we live with an in-control God. We can live somewhere or through something, while we simultaneously dwell in the shelter of the Most High, as Psalm 91 says. It says the person who dwells in the true shelter finds rest in that refuge.

Despite the rats and roaches, we painted the walls, hung homemade curtains, and our 400 sq ft began to feel like home (and a penthouse compared to our previous 250 sq ft). We had our reasons for choosing this block, and in time we found there were even more. Hard things that changed us, I hope. It was also a training ground for some strengthening we’d need a few years down the road in a different neighborhood.

Circumstantial changes can be really good in hard seasons, but they’re not always possible or occasionally not even right. But the peace of God transcends circumstance. It must, and it does because He says He’s near to those who seek Him and abide in Him.

Within a few years, we brought home our first baby, introducing him on the way up to the wild-eyed woman on the stairs, now a friend with a name. And a while after that, I cried when it was time to move out.

Art That Speaks

A few years ago, I came across the name Adrianus Miolée, a Dutch painter whose quiet painting once hung in Corrie ten Boom's bustling home in Haarlem, just outside Amsterdam. He lived in the time of her family, walking the same cobblestone streets.

Corrie, a Holocaust survivor and author of The Hiding Place, spent her later years traveling the world sharing a message of forgiveness and the love of God. By her side for nearly a decade was Ellen de Kroon, a young woman who served as her assistant. When Ellen married, Corrie gave her one of the last possessions from her family home: the painting by Miolée. Ellen still has it to this day. (I’ve had the privilege of connecting with Ellen over the past couple years, and her stories are every bit as meaningful as Corrie’s books.)

So you can imagine my awe when I found one of Miolee’s works myself, this one depicting the sand dunes outside Haarlem, a place Corrie often referenced in her book, In My Father’s House. It now hangs in my home, a symbol of faithfulness, connection, and perseverance.

This is why I create and collect art:

Not just to fill a space, but to tell a story.

To anchor meaning in the rooms where we live and work.

To remind us of things worth remembering.

The Art of Hidden Work

Imagine all the hard-working people it took to construct this gorgeous old church... those who were visible every day with hammer and nails, and those who were working behind-the-scenes to make the work possible.

We stumbled upon it while traveling out in the country on Mother's Day, perched on sloping fields with serene views. According to the sign, German settlers built it 100 years ago.

I love discovering hidden gems and getting a glimpse into their history. Same with people-- I'm so encouraged by stories of those who serve and love diligently and faithfully outside of the spotlight.

Inside that church, I'm sure they read the same verse that I've had posted in my kitchen for several weeks now: "This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends."

The essence of mothering is laying down our lives. And I am more and more convinced that this is true: A life poured out is a life filled up.

We are often scared of hidden work because we fear no one will see us, know our struggles, understand our sacrifice.

There is no doubt a time and place for the spotlight, but I think we might be surprised one day to find that perhaps the best rewards are earned behind-the-scenes. It feels hidden, but someone always sees. Always. (see Matthew 6:1-3)

Behind-the-scenes service is beautiful and significant, especially in an age where we're tempted to post and share every good deed we do.

I think of my own Mom (pictured here with baby me), and her years and years of behind-the-scenes work. That is priceless to me. She's lived sacrificially and always present for her children. She has never been one seeking the spotlight, but humbly serving where she's needed. That has been such a gift for her children to see. I've seen her honored by others throughout the years, not because she has ever promoted herself, but because others see the hidden work, and they see the fruits of her labor.

For all who are living behind-the-scenes (mothers or not!), working hard, serving, loving with all your heart... keep moving forward in Joy and rest in Peace. You are seen.