This Little Room

The icy wind is howling against my window, and I'm huddled under the blanket trying to warm my toes. I look around my room at the piles of my belongings, all ready to move to their new home. This is one of my last nights here, and I'm noticing every detail of this room I love so much. It hardly seems possible that over a year ago I left my Los Angeles life behind and followed my few boxes out to my parents' Colorado home.

The life to which I bid farewell almost seems like the life of a close friend, not my own. Sometimes I don't want to remember any piece of it, but what I've come to realize is that I will never forget most of what happened. It was a life of wondering if I was literally going crazy; of being stuck between decisions that, in my mind, rivaled choosing between loss of sight or loss of hearing -- either one leaves you without something you don't want to live without; and of things getting only worse the harder I worked to make them better.

One of the lessons I've learned in this little room is that freedom and redemption are waiting if you'll only ask for it. My goal should not be to forget the hard things but to redeem every single one of them. Jesus is the only place to go for complete wholeness, and I'm still learning this. I still get nauseous sometimes when I sit down to speak with Jesus. He can rub you raw, but it's a healing rub. He promises never to leave us or forsake us, and that promise is stronger than anything.

Right before I left California, I was a skeleton in every sense. Mom and Dad offered a safe place where I could drag my weary bones and stay awhile, so I accepted the offer and moved in with nothing to give. Depleted to the core, I set about the task of recovering. There were times I longed to sense God's comforting presence. It had been so long since I'd acknowledged that, but He held me close to His chest just like a father. He rescued me, and everything has changed.

Colossians 1: 13-14 says, "He has delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of His beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins." Indeed He has. This room has been the spot for so many significant moments in my heart this past year, it's strange to leave. But the room I'm moving to will have a story all its own, and I can't wait to live it. 

This blog was born during that first month home. Here are the words from the first post: White walls signal new beginnings. An empty room with white walls is the most welcome place for change as the only thing to do is to add color, design and function. The finished room depends entirely on the vision of the designer. This is where I am -- I've been emptied out, swept, painted white and primed for renovation. My architect and designer are One, and He will put His mastery on display as He completes the room according to His initial design. This designer is Jesus, the Redeemer, the only one who can create life out of death and make old things truly new. This blog will serve as the place I describe the color, the furniture, the artwork, and even the fresh flowers set on the table. It's time to start over. 


Another chapter ends, a new one begins. The walls in this little room have a story from this year all their own. Maybe someday they'll talk, but today I'm one step closer to painted walls, the zebra rug put out on the floor and the furniture arranged with beautiful flowers on the table.