I moved around a lot as a child. Many townhouses and homes in Virginia and Maryland in those early years of mine from 1973-1980. In January of 1980 we moved to eastern North Carolina to 250 acres of farmland. My father was retiring, and wanted to move back to his roots, the place he was taken away from as a young child. My parents put a double-wide on the land for us to live in while they built a 4000 square-foot farm house. Oddly enough, I loved that small double-wide trailer more than the large farmhouse because its smallness and coziness kept me close to my parents. I never felt as close to them as I did in that space. I have memories of coming home from school to watch the Joker’s Wild and drink Dr. Pepper with my mom there, and very vague memories of either of them in the years in the farmhouse. The farmhouse years were ones where I ran wild outside with geese and goats, a pond and pastures, a go-cart and a golf cart. But I digress.
It was in the farmhouse that I first noticed that my mom created a spot for herself. In the guest room, she set up a desk, a record player, a sanctuary of sorts. It was in that very room that I gave my life to Jesus alongside of her, kneeling next to the bed, and asking Him to save me. The farm experiment didn’t last long. Around 1984 we moved from that land into a white stucco condominium on the river in the small city that was 15 minutes up the road. My mom created a quiet corner in our living room, with a bookshelf brimming with books, an orderly desk, and managed all kinds of adult bills and correspondence there that I didn’t understand. But also, tucked away in the guest room, was another desk that felt like her inner sanctum, the place I knew that she shut the door to spend time with the Lord alone. One space was managerial and the other was private. We moved into an old Victorian home only 5-7 minutes away from the condo in 1989, and again, she chose the smallest bedroom as her getaway space, a room of her own. That lovely house was sold in the summer of 1992, a year after my father passed away.
My mother became a nomad after that, for reasons I am still not entirely sure of. She lived long stints with friends in other parts of the country. She came back to that Eastern North Carolina town eventually, maybe 1995 or so, to live in an apartment and be a nanny and home-caretaker for local lawyers. After many years, she left and landed in Kansas City, Missouri, near a church that she wanted to be a part of. Finally, her journey took her to Bakersfield, California, married for 11 years now, after being widowed for almost 20. She lives in a comfortable ranch-style home, still clean, well-organized, and designed with a lovely yard that she tends with beauty and grace. But what I notice when I visit is the guest bedroom. An organized desk, a sitting area, a bookshelf of books, a table for reading and writing, an opened Bible, always a cup of pens and pencils, and plenty of notepads. My mother’s monastery.
There are many ways that my mom and I diverge in thought, belief, and opinion. That has been a source of sadness and frustration for me at times. I think both of us desire to be deeply understood, and we have a hard time really listening and accepting our differences. Where we converge is in our mutual love of beauty, design, books, writing, and teaching. She has modeled to me what it looks like to create a comfortable space, to think creatively about rooms, to add small touches of beauty, and to allow decor to represent yourself, not current trends. We didn’t have conversations about these things; it’s what I picked up from watching and learning. From her I learned to set up a space for myself in my homes: sometimes just a bedside table, a corner in an office or in my bedroom, or claiming a particular chair in a common living space with a basket next to it with reading and writing materials.
Having a space of my own gives me a bit of autonomy in my large family life. It’s sacred to me, hallowed—set apart—for thinking my own thoughts, generating creative ideas, planning, processing, reading, praying, worshipping. In this particular home in Quail Valley, in this particular stage of mid-life, I have a claimed a sunny spot in my front room, a certain corner chair in the den, a winged-back chair in the sunroom from where I teach, and my own small desk in my bedroom. Each of these spaces are used for different purposes by me, and others use them as well (except for my bedroom desk!), but as someone who spends the majority of my time at home, it has been life-giving to have a special spot in every room where I gravitate to read, think, ponder, pray, reflect, teach. Every room welcomes me in.
“The artist knows he must be alone to create; the writer, to work out his thoughts; the musician, to compose; the saint, to pray. But women need solitude in order to find again the true essence of themselves: that firm strand which will be the indispensable center of a whole web of human relationships.” ~ Anne Morrow Lindbergh
If we as women, who have chosen to live a life deeply invested in home, feel a bit boundary-less in our homes, maybe the answer is to claim one small corner, one desk, one table to call our own. A sanctuary to think our own thoughts, to create, to read, to plan or simply make our to-do lists. Maybe you have a space, but it has gotten cluttered and stale. Revive it. Dust it. Remove the old inspirations and grab some new ones. Put some fresh flowers there. Maybe open your Bible to the Psalms and place it there as an invitation, just like my mom does.
Make a space to ground you, center you, so that as you rise up to use your home to bless your family and others, you are prepared, focused, and ready, filled with beauty, wise thoughts, the Holy Spirit.
From the blue-floral chair in corner of the den,
Aimee
Aimee, this is such a lovely, inspiring, inviting piece of your wisdom. Thank you for sharing so faithfully. I’ve put off carving a little space of my own, but I’m freshly challenged to make it a priority.
Your mom’s journey was also captivating. I’m finding myself wondering about all the little towns you referenced. We have so many shared locations in our histories. ❤️ (mamabeasley)