In Which I Explain Why the Lord Didn't Make Me a Bird

I have become painfully aware in the last few days as to why exactly that Lord didn't make me a bird.

Although I have indirectly asked Him to several times.  Not like for real for real, but when I'm doing my best Jen-nay impression from Forrest Gump.  You know:

"Dee-uh God, Make me a buhd, so I can fly fah. Fah fah away frum hee-uh."

Moving on.

I'm pretty sure though that when the Good Lord was drawing in His sketchbook all of the creations that He had on His mind, when He came to me He said, "I'll make her a bird.  No wait.  She'll be a person.  Because she'll be forgiven as a person if she can't feather a nest."

What does "feather a nest" mean anyway?

Whatever it means, I can't do it.  I'm completely inept and disfunctional in that department.  All the feathering genes were passed to my sister, and I was left with only the ability to stutter and stammer my way around a Pottery Barn catalog.  I roam the home interior aisles at various stores and get all sweaty palmed and nervousy. 

Because it just isn't my thing.

My home is comfortable.  It's cozy.  And it fits us.  But it is the farthest thing from fancy or well-decorated..  And I'm perfectly fine with that.

But there is something about a floor-to-ceiling remodel that causes a person to do crazy things.  I know for some of you, the thought thrills you to no end.  But for me, it has just made me need to double up on the ole Prozac.

I've lost sleep at night rearranging furniture in my head.  And trying to envision picture placement on the walls.

The day I went to pick out paint, it is possible that I freaked out the 17 year old kid with slouchy jeans who was working the paint counter.  I second guessed myself.  And third guessed.  And sixty-seventh guessed.  I finally settled on a couple of colors only to turn around and settle on different ones.  Only to turn around and go back for the first ones I picked out.

Then there was the fabric for my new curtains.  I was drawn to a certain fabric but was unsure of anything except that I just loved it. And after flip-flopping between safe and not-so-safe, I just decided to bite the bullet and go with what I loved.  Because it's my house and I have to stare at it.  And I'm not planning on a Southern Living photo shoot anytime soon.

Then there is the flooring.  And the moldings.  And the trim.  And the new tiles for the fireplace.  And. And. And.

I'm so happy for you people who live for this kind of thing.  Your homes are beautifully decorated.  Your paint colors were chosen effortlessly.   And you can just hang a grouping of pictures on a wall without a second thought, and it just looks...well...good.

Me?  Not.At.All.

But I'm pretending this week.  I'm trying to feather my nest and stretch the wings that are not there. 

And once again, the Lord is confirmed in His creation.  He knew what He was doing.

A bird.  I am not.