My phone listens to me. Even though I thought for sure I had cut off every possible way for it to happen. Either that or it is reading my thoughts. Honestly, I wouldn’t put that past it either. Because up pops on my Instagram feed Create Academy. I’d never seen this before so I investigated via Google. I discovered it is this type of Master Class experience with the best of the best in all kinds of creative avenues, including floristry, food, and yep, interior design. I am telling you my phone is listening to me.
The trailer for the Interior Design course was unfair. The music was similar to the Downton Abbey introduction and then this British designer, Rita Konig,begins talking. You already feel dumber when you’re listening to the English because, well, there is a very large pond literally and figuratively between “Would you like a spot of tea?” and “Bubba will you hold my beer?” I couldn’t resist any of it. It was a 32-course video class with 10-15 minute videos. She would walk you through everything from room layout, to deciding where to put your electrical outlets, to picking out furniture, to deciding between draperies and blinds and she was witty to boot! I love witty…
I asked Philly if he minded if I spent the money for the course. He didn’t. So, I did. I do not know when I have enjoyed anything as much as I enjoyed every single second of that course. On Sunday afternoons after church and lunch I’d climb back under the covers of our bed, put Sophie up there with me, and I’d watch videos, take notes, research sources and items she talked about and just had the most delightful time.
“Taking your course?” Philly would ask as he popped in and out from watching football.
I’d nod my head.
“You smile a lot watching that.”
I smiled bigger. Because it was true. I did. I loved everything about it. It was like this place and space in me just came to life. When she showed how to lay out a room, I ordered tracing paper for when it would come time to lay out mine. When she showed how she chose fabrics and put them in clear envelopes and organized them by room, I gave Amazon yet another piece of my children’s inheritance. Yet, all the while my heart vacillated between how exceptionally out of my league I felt and how desperately I wanted to be in the league.
“Do you think you’re going to be able to do it babe?” Philly would ask at the end of Sunday nights.
“I don’t know.”
And I didn’t. I don’t. I want to. I want to desperately. But when the amount of detail and skill it requires rushes in, I’m certain it is more than I can handle. One day in my playground of mental mania it was as if God stopped me and reminded me of all the years of writing books. I’ve never written a whole book at one time. I write it one page at a time. I wake up in the morning and I write. And in my obedience, God blesses it, and before I know it I’m holding a three-hundred page story that I still don’t know how it came from me.
Then it was as if He spoke the same words He had told me after my divorce when I didn’t know if I’d ever write again. He simply said, “You show up and I’ll show up.” I feel something very similar in this moment. One decision at a time. One item at a time. If I show up, you’ll show up. Yes, I believe I hear you saying that here as well.
I mean, whoever dreamed I would even be in this moment holding plans in my hand that came from what You placed in my mind? My thoughts? My heart? But I am. Just like you’ve done with books. Now, here I sit studying something I thought I hated, only to discover that I adore it. Only You can do that Father. Only you…