day one, and bad kitchens

So here we are on the cation. So far the weather is perfect, and our cabin is quite nice. The boys are buying fishing bait with Dad, Mom is out for a run, Cami's eating a muffin, and I'm sitting on the couch (one of three actually) with a mug of coffee, a stack of books, and a laptop with no internet. What a life.

Apart from Keegan's dog inconsiderately breaking her leg shortly before we were supposed to leave (I'd like to say that's the last time she'll try to climb a six-foot fence, but that may be giving her intelligence more credit than it deserves), and a couple of friendly neighbors dropping by to chat and, incidentally, bump our intended departure time back by an hour or two (we love our neighbors, don't get me wrong) - anyway, apart from those things, yesterday went surprisingly according to plan. By early evening we were all here; we unpacked most of our vast supply of . . . supplies; we ate supper at Perkins (so much for all that food we brought); some of us watched a tennis match until midnight (miracle of the day: thanks to Dad, I think I actually understand the scoring system!); we slept like logs.

There's a stack of magazines on top of the fake fireplace here, that Cami and I were looking at while we waited to leave for supper last night. Most of them seem to be resources for the modern woman, anything from Oprah, to Country Living (ha ha, right?), to Home Decorating. Home decorating for millionaires, that is.

I found myself staring at a large photo of a beautiful designer kitchen at one point, trying to figure out why I hated it so much. It wasn't that I didn't like how it looked. It looked great. Excellent taste, excellent design. Quite lovely.

Then it struck me (I call myself Captain Obvious) that it was because that kitchen was not meant to be used. The framed photos at the back of the countertop, the bowl of fruit in the center of the island, the absolutely clean aura of the place - was not to be disturbed.

Frying hamburgers? Canning tomato juice? Kids running around? Nuh-uh. No touchy-touchy.

I flipped a few pages over to a similar spread, displaying a perfect living room. Same sensation. Perfect. Untouchable.

The very function and life purpose of a house is to be a home - to be used - to be lived in.

The kitchen was invented for cooking. The living room was invented for fellowship. The bedroom was invented for rest. The bathroom was invented for . . . well, you know what bathrooms are for.

To me, I guess the foundational problem is that these designer homes defy their created purpose. At the core, they're just not true.

Kind of like us, huh? Created for God's glory, living so often for our own? Small wonder that we can't find peace, can't rest, can't live. But praise be to God for seeing fit to gradually redesign us, to return us to the truth.

Ouch, when He breaks in pieces that expensive designer couch that kept me from inviting real people to come in and sit awhile. But - oh, hey! This is kind of nice . . . this is right . . . this is what I'm here for.

What a weird thing to write about the first day of vacation. Oh well.