It started out innocently enough. We decided to replace the putrid ceiling light in our dining room with a chandelier light. Not like one of those in the Academy of Music, just a good hanging light. The goal was while dining, you would actually know you were in a dining room instead of a dimly lit basement cubicle. A noble goal for hospitality I thought.
Although I enjoy decorating to a degree, I do not enjoy (despise, abhor, detest) choosing what to purchase from thousands of options. This exercise eventually makes my head feel like its exploding and imploding at the same time. (Ask my husband about paint swatches.) This is why I often defer to the decorating gurus among us.
So when picking a chandelier, I asked a friend’s opinion, and purchased one off the internet. It was fine—fairly standard actually, nothing unusual about it. But as soon as it was hung (and wires snipped ensuring no return) the demon of regret hit.
It’s the wrong size.
The familiar shudder of decorating horror went through me and I knew without a doubt that I had once again done something stupid. From then on, every time I walked by the room, the chandelier grew. By the end of the day I was leaning against a wall, observing what looked to me like a 10 foot black spider that had taken over my home.
In the end, God used the spider as a wonderful lesson for me. It was not growing, but the sinful cravings in my heart were; cravings for the approval of others, for the perfect home, for a hassle-free life. Where were my cravings for the purposes of God, for the furtherance of His Kingdom, for service to the saints?
God is gracious to forgive, and He did, refreshing my commitment to his plan. I want to throw my life and my home and my stuff up to him and say, “Take it, use it, do something eternal with it!” I’m thankful God uses even our silly decorating crises to put us back on the beautiful but narrow path. May my house always sit by that road.
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