Far out, where the roads turn from pavement to gravel and the sky turns from gray to blue, there are fields of rubies. Red, sweet, delicious rubies, ready for picking. Ready for eating. Ready for savoring. Be in wonder of the bounty. Be in wonder of the beauty.
As someone who struggles with depression, the topic of present joy is very real and pertinent to my everyday. It’s not something that I think about only when I reach a crisis or a particular turn in the road. No. I think about joy—the work involved in reaching and staying in a place of joy—all of the time. It’s a matter of survival for me.
This month I went on a couple of really beautiful, lovely dates with a certain young gentleman. They were fun—great food, great conversation, great company. Everything you would want from your first two dates with someone with whom you might start a relationship. Of particular beauty, the second date took us to the, new-to-me, Cincinnati neighborhood, Mt. Adams.
Mt. Adams sits atop a series of hills overlooking the river and downtown Cincy. It’s a place where cool restaurants, hipster bars, designer apartments and cobblestone alleyways line the streets. It’s a place where signs announcing opening weekend for the Mt. Adams’ Farmers Market grace public doors, where dogs walk their owners and where art and architecture are part and parcel of the community. It’s a place where the light dances with flower gardens, plays hide-and-seek along old brick walls, and beautifies everything in its path. In short, it’s a place of beauty, light and joy.
When I think about that second date with this particular gentleman, it’s this beauty, light and joy that I remember most.
Unfortunately, I don’t think my date noticed the beauty or the joy, either in me or in our environs, and there will be no third date. His reason? My “joy-quotient” was not high enough. Because I failed to portray myself as someone of “optimism and joy” (his words), he decided we were not compatible for the long-term.
For my date’s part, I don’t really blame him for this misunderstanding. Just that evening—the same evening of so much light, beauty and joy on Mt. Adams—I shared with him some of journey with and through depression. Most people advise against sharing such personal stories at first introductions, but I’ve never been one to follow that advice. To know me is to know my testimony of faith and it is impossible to share my testimony without revealing my personal struggles with depression. I’ve never allowed depression to define me and to share about God’s work through my sadness is always an act of worship.
But it should come as no surprise when someone hears my story and misunderstands. For me, living with depression is not unlike someone who must learn to live with Type 1 Diabetes—once you learn you have it, you treat it, manage it and deal with it. For others, especially a potential suitor, mention of depression may easily signify a “red flag” of the highest degree.
Hearing that there would be no third date because of my supposed lack of “optimism and joy” was a hard rejection. It cut straight to the core of my desire to run hard after joy—and not the fleeting kind called “happiness,” but the real, centered-on-Jesus joy characteristic of an “abundant life.” After hearing this particularly harsh rejection, my type-A tendency turned on and I offered him a rebuttal—an argument as to why and how I was, in fact, a person of optimism and joy. I offered a rebuttal despite my own hesitations to argue in these situations, as I know all too well that matters of the heart are often inexplicable and always complicated. I don’t think “arguing” someone into “liking” you makes good use of either person’s emotions.
As it turned out, however, my argument wasn’t for my date. It was to battle my own insecurities and self-doubts that told me my date was right. Despite all of my efforts to live in a place of joy, what if others only see the depressed me. What if I really am not joyful, or even merely happy? What if depression does define me? Does sadness make one un-dateable, unlikeable…undesirable?
It’s very tempting to think this, all things considered.
But it’s not true.
What’s true is that constant optimism and so-called joy are not prerequisites for Christ’s love to dwell in you. Christ himself was well-acquainted with grief and sorrow. What’s more, Jesus does not require us to have the joy-thing completely figured out before we can be in relationship with Him, nor does he promise there will be no tears when we walk out our journey of faith.
In a powerful, and timely, reminder of this truth, my devotions took me to Hebrews 5:7—
“During the days of Jesus’ life on earth, he offered up prayers and petitions with fervent cries and tears to the one who could save him from death….” (NIV, emphasis added)
Like us, Jesus carried sadness with him. Burdens. His heart ached. I am not any less desirable because I feel deeply, sorrow often and shed tears easily. What’s more, God is always at the ready to hear my fervent cries and tears, and he likes me no less for offering them up to him frequently.
Tears, sadness, burdens and heartaches. And beauty and joy.
And third dates.
When decorating a home, my own bedroom always seems to be finished last. After all, no one but me spends much time, if any, in the space. In some ways, I’ve always thought that giving too much attention to a bedroom hinted at vanity.
When decorating, I’m self-conscious to a fault that I don’t want my space to be “too girly.” This mindset meant that I avoided pink in any of my decor. Turns out, I regret that decision, mostly because I enjoy pink love the color’s versatility and vibrancy.
The bedroom became the remedy for that mistake. I decided I wanted to decorate with my three favorite colors—pink, green and brown—and let the design flow from there.
It turns out, I love this room. I love it because it is girly and feminine and completely me. I love the pictures of my family on the walls. I love the old radio re-purposed as a nightstand. I love the grungy, old brown box on my dresser where I keep my makeup. And I love the stuffed frog, a staple of my room since eighth grade.
And all of the pink? Turns out, I love that, too.
Bulletin Board: Pottery Barn
Flower Quilt/Shams: Anthropologie
Heart Artwork: Rifle Paper Co.
Pink Coverlet: Land of Nod
Purple Blanket: Pottery Barn
White Frames: Pottery Barn
All other items are family heirlooms, found on the side of the road, or antiques.
What makes a house a home? What makes a home hospitable? Inviting and beautiful? These are all things I consider when decorating the three-bedroom bungalow I call home.
Even though I am a visual artist, designing for print or web is very different from designing in three-dimensional space. Regardless, the same principles of my personal style—clean lines, composition, and color—still apply. I’m not sure how professional interior designers work, but I always start with color, and by that I mean I find something with every color in it that I love and match all other items to that piece. In this case, I purchased the rug and curtains with the same bright peacock pattern, hanging the curtains in the family room and using the rug in the dining room to tie the two distinct, but conjoined, spaces. I intentionally choose something with tons of colors to allow me to color my space with variety—and, if I get bored of one hue, I can always add another!
Perhaps the biggest challenge for me in designing my home was to select artwork for the walls. As an artist and photographer, I tend to be very picky with what I am willing to hang. I feel the merit of the artwork I hang in my house is a visual answer to the question “What is good art?” Deciding on something to hang on either side of the couch took the most effort and reflection. I wanted something to tie in with the books to create a library-esque feel. In playing off the trend of hanging vintage Penguin book covers, I created my own canvases, switching out the book titles for lines of songs or quotes that inspire me.
The rest of the space is, for the most part, a collection of family heirlooms, personal creations, and favorite items I’ve discovered on the side of the road discarded as trash, or at antique shops or garage sales. Among some of my favorite finds include the old tea box I found discarded outside a used bookstore and use as an end table. It’s made only of plywood held together by aluminum angles, but never fails to earn a compliment from guests. The old phone is an antique from the early 1900s and would still work if only there were switchboard operators! Perhaps what I love most about the space is the bookshelves—or rather, the books themselves. If there is anything that I consider a “comfort possession” (something I don’t have to own but love to anyway), it’s my books. It’s easy for people to figure out who I am simply by looking through the titles of books I own.
Six years of collecting, curating and cultivating my own design style has resulted in a space I’m proud to call mine. How do you go about creating a space you love? Share in the comments!
Bird Rug and Curtains: Anthropologie
Calendar: Rifle Paper Co.
Green Chair: Jubilee Furniture
Orange and Green Kantha Blanket: Hand & Cloth
Red Pepper and Corn Salt and Pepper Shakers: Brimfield
Red Rug: Pier 1
Red Spotlight Lamps: Pottery Barn
Photographs and Vintage Penguin Artwork: Parisi Images
White Bookshelves: Ikea
Behr Navajo White
Update (6/14/2013): I’m so pleased to announce that the bungalow has been featured as a House Call on the popular home design blog Apartment Therapy. Hop on over there to check out the post and leave some extra comment love.