Heart Check
How much do you need to be grateful?
I admit it. Sometimes I complain about stuff. Specifically my house.
Cabinets that are falling apart. Spaces I wish looked more decorative. Furniture that’s old and uncomfortable. Clutter in every nook and cranny.
You get the picture.
I could go on and on sometimes. It just seems like no matter how much time I spend cleaning or organizing or rearranging, there’s still always something to moan and groan about.
But not too long ago, I got a heart check. I was looking for a document in the ancient files on my computer, and I came across this photo.
I know, it’s not a high quality photo. That’s because it was taken on my flip phone in 2011.
It’s a picture of the bedroom in my very first apartment, where my husband and I spent our first year of marriage. I was 20 when we got married, and he was 21 and in his final year of college. We had basically nothing, as you can see. Just a mattress on the floor, some lawn chairs in the living room, and a bunch of tupperware in lieu of actual dishes. My hubby worked a few hours a week as a tutor, and I worked two part-time jobs at the mall. We barely had enough money to pay our measly rent, much less to buy anything else.
It was tough, but by the grace of God we scraped by. It’s a time I look back on with fondness now, but I would never want to go back to living like that.
But here’s the funny thing. While we lived in that apartment, my husband and I had so. much. fun.
Sure, we wanted to make more money and get out of that creepy apartment complex. (No joke, our neighbors were not the kind of people you want to hang around with.) Yes, we wanted to be able to go out to eat or buy each other nice gifts or even just some new clothes. We bought whatever groceries were cheap, usually frozen junk because neither of us knew how to cook.
We had it tough back then. But some of our silliest memories together are from that time in our lives.
When our psycho neighbors were screaming at each other all night, keeping us awake, we played mini golf in our bedroom. We watched every single Texas Rangers game and every episode of The Nanny. (And maybe some Jersey Shore too.) We sat on the floor eating Otter Pops watching the rain fall outside. We played outrageous pranks on each other like a couple of little kids. We went to the park and played baseball with sticks and pinecones.
It was a hard time, but it was a simple time. We were happy because we were together, and that was all we truly needed.
Looking at that old photo reminded me that the house isn’t what makes a place feel like home. It’s the people inside of it. The memories made together. Finding joy in the little things because they’re the things that really matter.
You don’t have to have a lot to be thankful. All it takes is the willingness to enjoy life in every season, knowing that none of them last very long.
This was such a meaningful reminder. It’s amazing how easily we can focus on what isn’t quite right in our homes, and forget that the very things we’re frustrated with now are part of a life we once hoped for. That image of your first apartment stayed with me. Not because of what you didn’t have, but because of how full it was in a different way. The laughter, the creativity, the way you made joy out of so little. It’s such a beautiful picture of what actually makes a home.
I also appreciated your honesty about not wanting to go back to that season, but still being able to see it with gratitude. That felt real. It’s not about pretending hard seasons were easy, but recognizing what was good in them.
This really made me pause and think about how I’m seeing my own space right now. Thank you for the perspective shift.
The was very poignant read!
My wife and I had a similar experience early in our marriage. Our first apartment became a little sanctuary; when we closed the doors and the neighbors weren’t home, it almost felt like paradise.
But the apartment below us was transient, with every bad experience you can imagine: parties, music, domestic disputes; and always between 11:00 p.m. and 4:00 a.m. One night the guy came home intoxicated, cranked his stereo to full blast, put “Desperado” on repeat, and passed out. Banging on his door and calling the slum/landlord didn’t matter, he was out cold, and we were going insane. To this day, hearing that song triggers a reflex.
And despite all that, we still miss those days. Not knowing if you could make the rent, standing together anyway, and being joyful that you’d found each other no matter the circumstances, that’s what love feels like. Once you have that, without resentment or blaming each other, you really do have each other forever.