She’s pretty now, but she didn’t start off that way. Few things in this house have stayed the same, but this built-in somehow survived the remodeling. Now there is a wall in front of her that you can see in this first picture. At one point I painted the cabinet black, that was okay for awhile, but too much black eventually starts sucking joy out of a room (at least for me). Once the new wall went in, the space got smaller, and the color needed to be lighter. 
A few things needed to happen. Kev built me 3 bigs doors that matched the 4 existing ones at the bottom. I applied a raised stencil on the bottom doors. I do not have this process documented in pictures, but you can click here to see how I have stenciled other things in the house. The stencil pattern is from Melanie Royals (of course), but I do not think it is available anymore (I looked). However, there are hundreds of other ones that would be great choices for a similar project, click here to visit her site. 
Because the cabinet was old and beat up in some areas, I used a tissue paper technique over the entire surface. Click here to view a video on how to tissue paper a surface. The technique and process is what I am recommending from this video, not necessarily the products. I did not use any of the products on this video. Tissue paper is a great way to add texture to a surface, give it some age, and also hide imperfections. This technique is not desirable for every surface. I don’t care for it on walls (though the attached video demonstration is of a wall) and I wouldn’t recommend it for you grandmother’s antique mahogany chest she left you in her will. However, if you have a piece of furniture in your house that is mostly fake wood and has a laminate countertop from the 70′s on top of it…then you my friend, may have the perfect piece of furniture for a tissue paper technique. 
As I said before, my surface was first painted black and I applied the tissue paper at this step. Over top of that, I painted 50/50 Paris Grey & Pure White chalk paint by Annie Sloan. I could have used Annie Sloan’s wax to seal this, but I don’t always love the surface with a wax topcoat, so I used a water-based sealer instead. Click here to view what I used.
Now she is frenchy and soft and blue and I like her much more. I’m not opposed to painting her again though if I don’t like the color later on, it’s just paint. In other news: we took our kids to Washington DC last week for Spiring Break. My brother-in-law shares a zip code with President Obama, so we lived the city life for a few days, and saw the sights. A few reflections: if you are a mother of small children and you live in a city that requires no personal vehicle and you have to either walk everywhere or get on the Metro where no one smiles…please email me or comment below so that I can personally respond and tell you how much I admire you. Also, the Cherry Blossom festival starts mid-March and ends mid-April. Not sure why, we did not see one cherry blossom. We did not take jackets and we froze the whole time. Also, most of our knowledge of American history and/or the Smithsonian Museum comes from movies. My kids referenced Night of the Museum 2 about 45 times, and I’m pretty sure at one point the words came out of my mouth, “I think that’s where the aliens landed in Independence Day.” American History is officially on deck for next year in 5th grade. Lastly, if you have a four year old, don’t take him.
My Painted Cabinet: Tissue Paper Technique
Throw your net on the right side of the boat
I watch my kids run in circles around the loop of our family, kitchen, and dining rooms. In worn out pink glitter shoes they run the same path, the dumb Mr. Darcy chasing, and they squeal when he gets too close. Despite his gentleness, when 75 lbs of unstoppable dog is running after you, it is bound to increase your heart rate and decibel of your scream. They circle and circle and circle, until I eventually force them to stop before someone gets hurt. It wears them out. It wears me out just watching them.
I sit at my computer, with Bible open and books abounding, seeking growth. God has given me a heart for study, and so I study. I want to grow and be more like Him. I want to be different today than I was yesterday. But sometimes, a lot of the time, I feel like one of my kids running laps around the house in worn out shoes. Out of breath, heart rate through the roof, and growing more and more tired of the same scene with every passing lap. It wears me out.
I sat this morning arguing with the text in front of me. Would someone please tell me I am not the only person that does this. I had circled this lap too many times to not be aggravated by its accusations. First I called my husband, but he didn’t have time to discuss theology with me while he was working. He suggested we talk at lunch, but I don’t have patience for that. I was mad at breakfast, lunch was equivalent to never…too long to wait. So I went to scripture and started trying to make the scriptures argue this one out with me. That got confusing. Then I emailed my pastor, the most intelligent man I personally know. Surely he could help iron out the wrinkles of my struggling. By the time I was done with my frantic search and bible study, I was ticked off, keyed up, discouraged, and off to start my morning by teaching my kids Bible. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at that reality. Maybe I’ll do both. Yes, I think I will. Oh the irony.
We sat and opened the Word to John. As we do most mornings, our talking took us bouncing down rabbit trails, and I suddenly found myself sitting in a boat with Simon Peter, Thomas, Nathanael, the sons of Zebedee, and two other disciples, on the Sea of Tiberias. We were hoping to have fish for dinner; but now it was morning and we still had an empty boat. Discouraged and downtrodden. And then there was Peter. Oh Peter. You denied the One you loved 3 times. The guilt must have ached in his heart with a throbbing no one could comfort. The sting of regret seeps deep into the soul like poison. And there he sat, hungry, and tied up in knots. There I sat in my blue chair in front of my girls, hungry for truth, and tied up in the same kind of fisherman knots.
And with one word, Jesus shatters the deafening silence of that kind of frustration and despair. He walks out onto the sandy shores to meet his desperate fisherman in their empty boats, and says “Friends”. He called them his friends. Do you know what that is? It’s grace. It’s nothing but grace. And it doesn’t matter how many times you and I circle the same lap over and over and over again. We are always going to come back to the same thing. Grace. He finds us empty and confused and he says “Friends, haven’t you any fish?” And when we answer the obvious, “No”, He is faithful to say, “Throw your net on the right side of the boat and you will find some.”
I’m going to keep saying it until it sinks in for you, and until it takes deep root in my thirsty soul. It’s all grace. It’s all grace. It’s all. nothing. but. grace. And now if you will excuse me, I like Peter have sheep to feed. They are darling and cute, and they wear pink sparkly TOMS. Amen, and praise the Lord.
For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith-and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God-not by works, so that no one can boast. For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do. Ephesians 2:8-10
Father Daughter Sweetheart Dance
You just feel glad to have been a part of it when you see the first three year old walk through the doors, holding her daddy’s hand, and wearing a wrist corsage. Or while watching countless dads with pink sweaters hooked to their belts while dancing, because their little girls were getting hot. Or all those teenage girls being escorted into the dance in gowns, on the arm of their proud fathers. It was priceless. My girls asked if they could wear crowns, and I said “of course you can!” We are all in when it comes to their night with their dad, and they love it. 
We were asked to add a few updates to the decor for the evening. In keeping with our theme verse from Ephesians, and focusing on the idea of being rooted in love, we built trees for the table tops. We attached lit branches to the stands and covered them in butterflies to make the little girls happy.
The ice sculpture table in the foyer was wrapped with a pink tulle skirt that we made by tying strips of tulle to a long ribbon, and then attaching around the edge of the table. It was lovely and feminine and I now want a tulle skirt.
We updated the look of the photo booths by draping the backdrops in ribbon. Though the photo booths are mainly for girls and their dads,
some of the girls can’t help themselves. Darling!
Everyone entered through lit branches and butterflies.
And most importantly , our verse from Ephesians.
They danced from start to finish.
Everyone. All ages.
And then they rested, having been loved well.
Tilled Up Hearts
I sat with my feet kicked up on his lap in front of the fire. The night was warm, but my college girls were coming over for dinner, so I ignored the temperature and lit a fire outside anyway. We ate Chinese food and talked about life. One of them wants to get married. One of them has decided to be agnostic, or is it atheist? Which one believes there is “something” or “someone” out there, but not sure what that “something” is? I think that’s agnostic. I suppose either way it doesn’t really matter, to deny Jesus is to deny Jesus, it’s basically the same regardless of the title you give it. You probably shouldn’t quote me on that though, for some reason I’m betting there are probably theological holes in that statement.
They left and I sat tired. The fire was burning my legs through my jeans, but it felt so good. A good kind of burning. The kids were waiting for us to come pray with them before bed, but we were lingering downstairs where it was quiet. Quiet is to be savored around here lately. I try and sip it slowly like I would a latte because it just doesn’t happen often. It’s okay though. It’s our choice to keep the kids home with us, we wouldn’t change that, but I miss something that is difficult to pinpoint. It’s not really quiet that I miss, or even the alone time. And whatever this thing is that used to be here, but isn’t anymore, that I really can’t put into words anyways, I don’t really miss so much as I just wonder where it went. Maybe that’s convincing evidence that I didn’t really need it anyway.
And here’s another thing, there is something else that has appeared here in this house that wasn’t here before. I don’t have a name for that either, but it doesn’t make it any less real. It’s not that our days are picture perfect; in fact, it’s that they are as far from picture perfect as you could possibly get, and yet there is still something beautiful growing in this school room…a school room which I am as much a student in as my girls. I kind of feel like our lives are being tilled up by Jesus, like God is running a plow through our hearts to soften the soil for planting. Let me just say, if this is true, I think the harvest is gonna be more fun than the sowing. Plows aren’t gentle and they poke holes in places you’d rather they not. But though the soil in my heart is being turned, though the tilling is hard work, though the ground is dry and patience is trying, it’s still a beautiful thing. The work of the cross is gruesome, yet somehow, beautiful too. It promises a crop. And deep prayer, the kind of prayer that spills out of the mouths of a mother and daughter on their knees on a checker board homeschooling floor, echoes off the holy and approachable walls of the throne room. I hear a settling peace that stills my tired soul, a harvest is coming. Be patient and wait for it.
