That is the question.
This little rolltop desk of mine is a constant reminder to our family of the importance of faith. Yes, this one little ol' desk that I bought while living in a tiny two bedroom apartment , is a testament to the fact that resilience is buried deep within us, that hope is the last thing to die.
You see after 10 years of living in a little red 1950's ranch house, where all three of my babies were born, we were forced to sell. It was necessary, but oh what a trial the trying to sell became. Four weeks into the big housing market crash three years ago our realtor put the sign out on the front lawn, and we prayed for a miracle. The miracle came exactly one year later.
One whole year of trying to keep an old house in perfect condition for prospective buyers, with three little boys underfoot. One whole year of hopes dashed time and time again. There are no words, my friends, to adequately describe that year.
(Blurry picture of the retro kitchen we lovingly remodeled in that little red house)
But finally the much awaited moment arrived, the house was sold and we put all our possessions in a storage unit. We thought we would surely find a new house in no time at all and so the only things that went into the two bedroom, temporary apartment we rented were our mattresses, on the floor of course, and our clothes. Little did we know that the wait in that small apartment would stretch into thirteen whole months.
Here are two of my boys Christmas morning in the aforementioned apartment, five months into our house search. Note furniture-less living room and plain tree, devoid of beloved ornaments and a tree skirt, that were at the time buried somewhere deep in the storage unit. (My eldest with his retainer on, just lovely!)
Around month number six, when frustration levels were mounting and despair was starting to set in I decided that for all our sakes I needed to make an attitude adjustment. I calmly announced to the four men in my life that I would begin searching for furniture for our new home. Yes, furniture for the new home that was as of yet nowhere in the horizon. It was a leap of faith, a way of holding on to a dream. The furniture would consist of pieces I could transform with a little paint once we had a garage again . I loaded our three small children in the mini van and the treasure hunt began.
The first piece I bought was the small desk. I lugged it up the stairs to our second floor walk up and immediately began searching for items to display on it. Decorating that desk top became for me a much needed creative outlet during those remaining months, it kept me sane. The children began to look forward to seeing a new arrangement atop it every few days or so and even the mister complimented my efforts regularly.
Here it is in all its unpainted glory on the eighth month of our apartment stay.
On month number thirteen the time came to say goodbye to that small apartment. We had a house again! I promptly painted the little desk upon moving in and found a place for it between two wing chairs in the formal living area even though I knew a larger piece of furniture was what the space really needed. I did not want to part with it.
Now I have in my garage, waiting patiently, the perfect large piece for that space. But what to do with the little desk? Another good spot for it in the house cannot be found and it is only used nowadays to hold the countless 'treasures' the boys find at the park each day.
and yet to me it serves another purpose. It serves to tell the story of a particular season in our lives, a season where clinging to faith was all we had, a season that taught me lessons I do not want to soon forget.
Have you had to part with any one piece of furniture that for you had great sentimental value?