YOU TEND TO FILL THE SPACE YOU HAVE.

I don’t know who said this, but it’s true! I know it’s true because when we decided to downsize our empty nest (a large house in the country) and move to a smaller, more practical (i.e. two less bathrooms!) home on the lake, I had three weeks to pack up 15-plus years of belongings.

It was fairly easy at first. I divided things into three categories. Keep. Donate. Throw away.

The first week, there was a lot of Donating and Throwing Away.

Books went to the church library and old magazines recycled. I dropped off clothing at the local thrift shop. Tossed out pens that no longer worked, mysterious keys that opened nothing in the house, and the eyeshadow I’d bought when I actually had time to do my makeup.

When you’re cutting your living space in half, it’s easy to get rid of the dress you bought on sale but never really liked and a book about welcoming your new puppy when your Lab is now thirteen years old.

What to keep. . .that was a little more challenging.

Especially when it came to my kitchen. I had, to quote the Little Mermaid, “gadgets and gizmos a plenty”. And, to be honest, a bit of a cookbook addition. There was one for just about everything—potlucks, holidays, afternoon tea parties, easy meals for fussy eaters and everything in between. I also loved having people over, so the corner hutch in the dining room was packed with vintage linens I’d found at thrift shops and garage sales. The cabinet also housed the set of china I’d inherited from my mother-in-law because it protected fragile items from random projectiles (pillows, boots, and the like) that my son and his friends tossed around the house when they thought I wasn’t looking.

I loved the china but I only brought it out for Easter. I’m not sure why I chose the holiday that included chocolate bunnies and those capsules of pure sugar we call jellybeans. Maybe it was because the dishes were scattered with wildflowers and by that time of year, I was more than ready for spring. I admit, though, I was a little paranoid about dropping a cup or a plate. My mother-in-law had managed to keep the entire set intact since her wedding day, so I refused to use the delicate setting on our dishwasher and washed and dried every piece by hand.

In my new house, though, there wasn’t room for a china cabinet. I was faced with a dilemma. I could store the dishes in the crawlspace underneath our house and hope I remembered which box they were in or. . .I could use them.

It seemed like a radical idea. Taking something marked for a special occasion and using it for grilled cheese sandwiches or as a cutting board when we were feeling lazy. I didn’t want to wash the dishes by hand all the time, but could they hold their own in the dishwasher, crowded together with the pots and pans?

I realized as I sorted through our belongings that a lot of my “special” things were hidden away. Protected behind glass or wrapped in bubble wrap or stashed in an upper cabinet my children couldn’t reach. The crystal bowls we’d received as wedding gifts. The handmade quilts sealed in plastic because I was afraid they were too fragile for every day use (even though they’d been used every day by the women who’d made them).

What if. . .another radical idea. . .I started using those things, too?

What if they were within reach instead of tucked away?

It was during the move that I read Luci Shaw’s book, “Breath for the Bones”. In it, she talks about Via Affirmativa.  The life of celebration.

What would that even look like, I wondered.

Using wildflower china every day? Eating our meals at the old, slightly wavy-topped table with the lion feet because it was in the original cottage and, like a lot of the things I kept, holds a special place in my memory?

Or maybe it would mean less grumbling and more gratitude. Finding beauty in the ordinary. Thanking God for his blessings, whether it’s a spectacular sunrise or the first blades of grass peeking through the snow.

Being generous with the gifts I’ve been given—like my time, energy, and creativity—instead of holding back, waiting for the perfect “occasion”.

Of course, there are special moments. Weddings. Birthdays. Anniversaries. Times we gather together and laugh and eat good food. But I don’t always want to wait for someday. I want to celebrate this day.

This moment.

So, dust off your grandma’s teacup. Snuggle up in an old quilt (they’re stronger than you think!) or fill that crystal bowl with macaroni and cheese.

Whatever you do, I’d love to know how you live a life of celebration every day! Contact me through my website!