Ode To Yellow Linoleum

A lot of people think you should just get rid of all the old, ugly things when you buy a house. Yet some of those things have served us the best during the first five years of our renovation and that is why this will be a bitter sweet day for me as we open a new chapter here in the church house. It is yet another demo day and today we will be tackling an area of our home that has been previously untouched: our floors.

On one hand, I am completely thrilled. No one welcomes this forthcoming change more than me. We have been on top of a patchwork of carpet, linoleum and tile and I am ready to be rid of this flooring schizophrenia. On the other hand, this crazy, icky flooring has been my shalom for the past five years of our life here.

If you don't already know, living in a renovation is hard. Really hard. Okay, maybe not for the guy I live with, who feels content to shed his dirty clothes and leave them on our kitchen table. But for me and most people, this kind of thing is painful. The only way I can make it on most days is to have my own, tiny sanctuary in the midst of the chaos. That sanctuary-- a tiny set-up of my things; sometimes my office, sometimes my closet armoire, sometimes just my bed--  is often like a gypsy tent, moving from room to room, corner to corner as it is expelled from project to project. But this flooring, imperfect as it is, has been finished and in place and that sometimes is all I could hold onto when everything else around me seemed to belong in the eye of a tornado. When the walls are open with its guts hanging out, below my feet is this flooring. When I cannot find anything that I own, below my feet is this flooring.

So, today I would like to give thanks and dignity to my floors:

Ode to you, yellow linoleum. Though you are old-fashioned and bruised, you look so happy next to my blue cabinets and you brighten this otherwise dark kitchen. How many potlucks have you seen? How many happy feet and paws have walked upon you? You have served us well.

Ode to you, brown carpet. You have given softness and warmth to this vast, wide open space. You provide a cozy bed for our pets and our sometimes many visitors. You have taken and hidden the stains of a floor well lived upon by imperfect souls finding peace in this sanctuary. You have taken the beating and spills of worship and weddings, funerals and Young Life club, newborn puppies and weary travelers. The spots below you are more than stains, they are stories.

Ode to you, peach tile. You have welcomed all who enter here. From the first time my husband carried me through the threshold of this, our first home together, you have been our hello. Now we say goodbye. You have served us well. 

Though the ugly floors we are taking out these couple of days may not be anything to brag about, they have been faithful. They say, "Don't worry about me! Go ahead and live a little!" They have carried me through a difficult five years with their constancy and forgiveness. They are humble and their scars are beautiful to me. 

Now, bring on the change.