If I could, I would bring all of you here to this place where I write my stories. It isn’t at all what I imagined it would be in my dreams.
I knew long ago that when I could, I would devote my time to writing. I would set up a room with light yellow walls and sheer curtains that would gently billow as the spring air blew through an open window.
The room would be a haven of quiet for me to ponder my thoughts before putting them on paper. Pink and yellow roses would sit at my desk and rich pine floors would be under my feet.
Funny thing about dreams like that, they usually stay dreams.
Instead, a beige carpet is under my feet that is adorned with dots of spilled coffee. The walls are a deeper beige color that I once loved but now loath.
I painted it myself when we first moved into this house, and believe me, you can tell.
It is by far the ugliest, messiest room in our home. My husband works a great deal from here, so we share this mixed-up space.
There is a dormer that is above the garage where my pub table serves as a desk. A tiny space that is always cluttered with files, dictionaries, coffee cups, and bills I really need to pay.
In the main area of the room, a bed awaits in one corner to serve as a spill-over respite for guests.
My husband’s desk is quite ugly but serves its purpose. And, of course, he bought the ugly file cabinet, bookshelf, and chair to match.
As a retired interior designer, let me assure you, this is a legit designer’s nightmare.
I look around my little space as the light filters through the dusty blinds and see a poem to my left that my older daughter wrote when she went on a trip to Maine. She attached photos of Acadia National Park, framed it, and gave it to me as a gift long ago.
Underneath is a picture of my 7-year-old son, resting his head on my shoulder. I swear that picture is a photo of pure love. One of my favorites.
Above the coffee cups on my desk are an array of photos with mismatched frames. There is one of my granddaughter playing in the sand when she was two, my three children as babies and teenagers, my nephew, Alex, as a college man, and my grandmother playing Chinese checkers.
Hanging on a door is my son’s old hat he refused to take off as a young boy. Red, white, and dirty, but would I ever clean it? No.
There is a crazy looking 4-foot-tall carved wooden giraffe in the corner. Ralph’s eyes stare at me daily. “Are you ever going to clean this place up?” his eyes search mine for an answer.
Above the left corner of my pub table is a tiny plaque that reads, “Let us be silent that we may hear the whisper of God.”
I put it there to remind me to be quiet because unless you remind me, I won’t.
I would take you elsewhere in this room, but it only gets worse.
The rest of the house has been culled to my idea of beauty. It soothes my eyes and reminds me of a career that spanned the better part of my life.
However, this messy olio where I sit now soothes my heart.
I find God’s whispers here, along with memories captured in frames, poems, and a child’s hat.
Even my coffee cups are treasures. A beauty that has a bit of stale tea from yesterday was a gift from my granddaughter at Christmas. The yellow Wonder Woman cup holding cold coffee was given to me by special friends when my daughter was sick, and they thought us brave. I treasure it.
When my husband isn’t asking me how to spell something, I can lose myself in these words on paper and find myself when I look at those I love.
God put me in this cubby to remind me that beauty to the eye is not as wonderful as peace in the heart.
I adore the whispers I hear and the mess that I make. My ugly room is my favorite place in this house. It is where I belong. It is where my heart lies, and my past and future collide.
Everyone has a special place. It could be a closet, a swing on a porch, a chair by a lake, or the ugliest room in the house. It is there that you will hear the whispers in the silence. It is there that you will find true beauty and peace.
Visit it often.
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Lynn Walker Gendusa is a Georgia-based author and columnist. Her work appears regularly on NowHabersham.com and across the U.S. through the USA Today Network. She can be reached at www.lynngendusa.com. For more of her stories on family, faith, hope, inspiration, and love, click here.
