This is the third house we have lived in together since we got married. When I say house, I mean basement apartment. The last house we lived in was really a home.
Our house on Bluestone Street was in a quiet neighborhood off of Main Street. Walking down each street each house looked different than the next. There was craftsman styled houses with large porches of red-brown brick and delightfully scalloped siding in soft shades of green, grey, and yellow. There were Tudors of white stone and heavy, dark timber patterned around the house. Tall trees and thick shaded the house and green ivy draped around the brickwork like the houses in a fairy tale movie.
Our house was small with a single pitched sloping roof. A big red door stood in the middle of two living room windows and a small window that peered into a light-filled kitchen. Though we never chose a color scheme for our house, all our furniture, linens, wall hangings, and even kitchenware looked lovely together. The light blue kitchen tied together all the blue patterned Polish pottery my mom collected for me throughout the years - the spoon rest beside the stove, the cream pourer in the glass cabinet, the duck and duckling on the shelf over the radiator. In the living room, our soft leather mustard yellow loveseat and chair made quick friends with a brick fireplace and white mantle.
But, my favorite place was upstairs. Just walk through the living room, take a tight right. If you’re tall, you may have to duck down! Watch your steps as you ascend the narrow stairs which curve and open up to a spacious nook. With the ceilings sloped on both sides of the room, your eyes are drawn to a window overlooking the neighbor’s hearty oak tree. My grandmother’s brown wicker love seat and chair rest under each slope of the ceiling. They open out toward the stairs and lean close to the window, inviting you to conversation and contemplation.
Highlighted and notated books line three shelves of a small built-in shelf. My journals, pens, and Bible laid within reach on a crate that doubled as another bookshelf. The words “it is well... with my soul” framed the window and everything inside.
We were only there for one summer and one winter. I got to sit in this space for the sunrise in the summer mornings and click on a soft light for the dark winter mornings. Then, we packed our things in boxes and moved everything to Wyoming in early December 2019.
Our basement apartment is much smaller even than our slant roofed cottage. I cried the first time we walked in. The apartment sits on the corner of a street in a neighborhood that is much less quaint. RV’s and boats are stored in alleyways and driveways. Trees are sparse and homes are built for utility.
The front of our house has two doors -- one for our upstairs neighbor and the other for us. You can open our door and walk down five steps. To the right are doors to the bathroom, guest room, and our room. To the left, the living room curves into the dining area, kitchen, and little laundry area. There are ground-level windows that let in the sunrise from the backyard. In the evening, the sunset streams between juniper bushes through the front windows.
In between the living room and the entryway, there is just enough room for the wicker couch, a small bookshelf, and the wicker table. While there is no window overlooking a tall oak tree and no slanted ceilings to nestle under with my books and journals, this is still the place I come for comfort and peace. It is a quiet space within our condensed basement apartment and the vast spaces outside our doors.
The words and stories of C.S. Lewis, N.T. Wright, James K.A. Smith, Corrie Ten Boom, Craig Bartholomew, and other great witnesses line the shelf across from where I sit. Still in reach are my pens, highlighters, candle lighter, colored pencils, and sticky notes. A weekly prayer calendar, worship guide art, and a print of “A liturgy for the ritual of morning coffee” hang on the walls beside me and behind me.
Now, thousands of miles away from where they once hung, “it is well...with my soul” frame the wall beside the couch where I sit and pray.
Do you have any significant spaces you retreat to for comfort and peace? What do you keep there? Why is it so special?
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