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I'd studied enough home-decorating magazines to know exactly what I wanted in my dream house. It would be a big two-story colonial on a gently sloping hillside. This gorgeous house would contain a cozy den with a fireplace and a study with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. And, of course, there would be a gourmet kitchen. I could hardly wait to begin entertaining in my brand-new house.
Instead, when I married Al, I got his house: a one-story L-shaped brick ranch set on the downside of a sloping hill. The den did have a fireplace, and the study … well, there was a room with a computer in it. Let's just say the kitchen wasn't gourmet and leave it at that. But the thing I hated most? The L-shape. Good grief! Why couldn't it at least have been a normal ranch style?
Don't get me wrong. I was happy to be married to such a wonderful guy. Al was everything I'd prayed for in a husband: handsome, quiet, intelligent, kind—and a Christian.
But let's face it, after decades of singleness for each of us, we had more than a few adjustments to make when we got married. For me, the house issue was the biggest struggle. I wanted to move to our own home; Al didn't want to move from his bachelor "pad."
"Since I already own this house, you won't have to work after we're married," Al had stated during our engagement. That was a relief because the company I worked for was about to fold. But after the wedding, I found myself at home each day staring at the flaws of my new home.
Eventually it dawned on me that if things were going to change, I'd have to be the one to change them. I learned how to trim bushes, strip wallpaper, and paint. We replaced the ancient furnace and eventually installed central air conditioning.
"Why do we have to sink so much money into this old house?" I whined to Al.
And then there was the matter of Al's modern furniture. It was so … well, so functional. It wasn't warm, it wasn't cozy, it wasn't me! Al, of course, thought it was perfect. Ugh!
When my prayers for a new house went unanswered, I decided to change my prayers. "Lord, I can't stand our house. Do something, please!" Might as well be honest, right?
Later that day, while chatting with my friend Martha from church, the conversation turned to houses. "I'm ashamed to say it, but I hate my house," I confided and braced myself for a sermon about how unspiritual I was acting.
"I used to hate our house, too," Martha replied calmly. "Then I read in 1 Thessalonians 5:18 that we're to give thanks in all circumstances. So I went from room to room, thanking God for each one, just as it was. I haven't hated our house since."
I was impressed, so I went home and tried it. The bedrooms, the tiny dining room, the worn-out kitchen, the small den—I managed to say thanks for each one. As I went through the house, a little fountain of joy began to well up inside me. "Thank you, Lord, for this L-shaped house," I concluded with my arms stretched in an L-shape in the hallway.
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