Milo

I'm siting in my living room, the one with an open wall to the kitchen, the other half is a faux brick painted the same muted beige yellow as all the walls in the house. There is a large bay window where I watch the birds peck away to the death of small worms and grubs.

This room, it's awkwardly rectangular. Just this past fall I finally placed the off white couch center to the window and a thick runner at the foot of the couch. Because I hate the affect that hard floors have on bare feet- picking up and tagging along until they discard on a surface. I absolutely hate the feeling of sediment, no matter how recently I swept, crumbling off onto the couch... or worse, between the bed sheets where I have a nightly ritual of obsessively wiping away any mysterious crumbs in my bed.

Back in my living room, where I sit in my second-hand blue armchair that actually fits my 5 foot 3 inch frame with silver buttons all down the sides... I remember him.

This room is near empty and I can't help but feel a pull to minimize more, release more. I hate clutter, and yet every day, it finds me. The simple act of living, having two school aged children (how did that happen so fast) and birthdays and holidays and just life... all these ordinary days build up into wrappers and trimmings discarded on my beautiful coffee table.

I've never loved a piece of furniture like I do that coffee table. And yet, I dared to sell it. Thankfully, my sister on the other side of the continent persuaded me to keep it. And another friend whispered words of keeping it, letting it be the one piece that I choose to store when we move overseas in 2020. The one piece that feels elegant, clean and the detail of the woodworking puts me in awe. Because I'm the daughter of a carpenter and I find these small details to be worthy of a swoon, a mason jar of simple $4 white flowers and getting on my knees, crouching down to wipe away the dust and dirt that seeps into the toes of my beloved three footed coffee table.

While our mostly re-purposed, hand made and educational decor still stands in place on these walls we have called home for 19 months, our tiny Charlie Brown tree is still strung with illuminating lights, while the runner is still rolled out, awkwardly in the middle of the room with discarded shoes next to it and a strewn Woody the Cowboy at one end. In this mostly furniture-less room stacked with soon-to-be-filled boxes as we pack our final things tomorrow, I think of him.

I remember visiting their apartment this month ten years ago and his wife saying that he once said he would like a room with nothing but a chair in it.

Imagine that. A whole room in a house, with just a chair.

I know, right? It sounded silly at first, but as I have mulled over this thought, I actually really liked it.

So as we move, again, for the 7th time in 10 years, I think, what about a room with just a chair in it? Well, we went from living in a nearly 200 year old house that was 2,000 sf to an RV, to a 1,000sf 2 bedroom ranch, now we are heading to a 800sf 2 bedroom second floor apartment. Clearly, the last three homes mentioned don't allow for a room with just a chair in it.

But in moments like tonight, I want to remember him. Milo. His name was Milo and he died three years ago with his grandfather in Oregon when their plane spontaneously combusted.

I've never met a more adoring couple. And to my nearly 22 year old self, about to be married, I looked up to them and wanted to be so much like them. As they moved across the country, we inherited most of our newly-wed apartment furniture from them.

Two and a half years ago, when we made our big move, I re-homed those pieces of furniture and told them about Milo again. How he wanted a room with just a chair, how he was one of the most content and peacefully joyful people I had met, and how he adored his wife with such a love that made me want to be a better wife for my soon-to-be husband.

When I move, when furniture is placed and I struggle with trying to make due with what we have and save up for a rug that I later purchase on clearance at Target, I think of him. Because his life was a good one. A happy, welcoming, peaceful and loving one. And I learned about making a house a home from watching him and his wife. To keep it simple, make it cozy, open the doors and let the broken people in, so that they might find rest.

Thanks Milo.

Ten years later, I'm still learning from you.
Three years in heaven and I still don't understand why God chose to take you when and how He did.
Today, I want a house that is a home, no matter the location or size. All are welcome here.