I wrote a little about our new house in the last post, but I don’t think I mentioned the town. I think I’m definitely a small town girl. Not a country girl, and not an off-grid girl like my husband keeps
scaring me talking about. But I love being able to leave the car behind and walk wherever I want to go. Well, almost wherever. It’s entirely impractical to walk to the grocery store and haul a week’s worth of groceries home.
Anyway, as an added bonus, there’s a walking trail not far from the house that meanders through the woods and near a river. Can I just say again, I love it.
I’ve been reading a book called Sacred Pathways by Gary Thomas. In it he talks about nine different paths of worship, such as the Intellectuals who feel closest to God when they are learning new things about Him and His ways; the Caregivers who serve God by serving others; Traditionalists who are spiritually energized by a disciplined life, symbols, and rituals (not freaky rituals, good ones like the Lord’s supper or reading your Bible first thing in the morning).
A caveat, because I know a few people who will probably bring this up. The pathways are not an excuse to neglect your Bible, prayer, or Christian fellowship simply because they aren’t the focus of your spiritual personality. The pathways are meant as a way to deepen your worship of and relationship with God.
Me, for instance, I’m pretty sure I’m a blend of several of the personalities, but I’m drawn most to the Naturalist. There’s no place I feel closer to God, nowhere that prayer comes more easily, than while surrounded by his Creation. This doesn’t mean I never have to enter a church building again. It just gives me some insight on how to amplify my personal worship.
All that to say, I love that path by the river.
I was lying in my bed the other night. It was about 10:30 and I was trying to be responsible and actually get enough sleep. Sadly, that only works if you can actually fall asleep, but I was trying, and I was starting to drift.
Anyway, my six-year-old daughter comes out of her room. I can tell because in this old, creaky house, every time her door opens it sounds like the grim reaper dragging his scythe across a concrete floor.
So, she comes out. Her feet patter to the bathroom. I see the light come on through my bedroom door and then…
This isn’t unusual. She’s a little bit of a control freak. It might serve her well when she’s older and able to gracefully handle things not going her way, but right now, screams are common. She also screams at bugs.
I assumed this was a bug scream.
I roll out of bed, stumble to the door, more worried about her waking my son than whatever’s bothering her (I know, I’m such a sympathetic mother). Meanwhile, my husband is creaking up the stairs. I grab my daughter, who’s still freaking out.
“There’s something scary in the bathroom.” She wails.
Yep, definitely a bug scream.
My husband walks into the bathroom. His eyes find the ceiling. Then he quickly closes the door. His face isn’t the face of a man who’s just seen a harmless, little insect.
“It’s a bat.” He says.
For some reason, instead of taking care of the bat, he takes our daughter downstairs to comfort her. Ok, whatever.
I know some of you will cringe at this next part because, apparently, the fear of bats ranks up there with snakes and insects. But bats don’t bother me too much. I don’t particularly want them in the house and I might freak out a little if one flies at me, but I rank them with birds. Don’t bother them and they probably won’t bother you.
So I eased the bathroom door open, because I wanted to see this bat.
Sadly, it was already gone. But I did find the hole it probably came through.
My husband and I switch roles. I comfort the girl child and he goes to plug up the hole. I’m carrying my daughter around and hear scratching in the kitchen. Slightly freaked and not wanting a bat to fly at us and set my daughter off again, I advance slowly, following the sound until I find the source. I don’t know how this house is put together, but that bat was in the kitchen ceiling.
Bats do not belong in kitchen ceilings.
That was over a week ago and we still haven’t found it.
Worse, I’ve found a whole lot of holes it could potentially crawl through.
To summarize, we may be looking into what it will cost us to break this lease and find a new house because, sure, bats don’t scare me, but they don’t belong in the house and I don’t want them swooping out of a hole in the floor while we’re watching TV.
Yes, I’m going to talk about minimalism again. There’s always something new to learn. As I unpacked numerous blank journals I never write in, patterned pencils I never use, and wall decor I’ve never hung, I learned I might be a magpie. I love pretty things and I want them in my house making my nest shiny and beautiful. But as I removed item after item from boxes, I began to realize A) they take up a lot of space. B) I rarely/never use a lot of it. And C) I’d forgotten some of it even existed.
Anyone else have this problem? Hoarding things you never use? It doesn’t even have to be pretty, maybe you hoard magazines, intending to read them…eventually, or some kind of hobby equipment that you swear you’ll use someday (gulp, let’s not talk about all the yarn in my attic.)
I think my urge to hoard pretty things dips into that FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out). I see it and I think “I’ll never see this pretty thing again unless I buy it and take it home.” So I buy it, and take it home. But the truth is, there’s beauty everywhere. In fact, I’ve been making it my mission to find something beautiful every day just to remind me that beauty is always there and I don’t have to pay for it (and probably bury it in a drawer or a closet). Guess what? Every time I look for beauty, I find it.
Lesson of the day: Don’t buy all the pretties.
Disclaimer: Some pretties are ok, just make sure you have a place for them 🙂