found

i have a thing for found objects {much to my utilitarian husband's chagrin}. 

i love them. found objects, one-of-a-kinds, thrifted antiques. 

really, i have a thing for the story behind what's in front of me. and that thing is mainly that i want there to be a story.

take our coffee table for instance. 

there's a piece of driftwood on it. a small one. it looks like a 7 which is why i initially picked it up on the beach. folly beach to be exact. if you're not familiar with it, folly beach is just a stone's throw from iop outside of charleston, sc. and iop is where our family grabbed a long weekend in the midst of a confused and reeling world in february of 2021. 

our family walked along this stretch of beach - there was no swimming allowed due to the undertow - and got sand in our toes and salt air in our hair. we stopped for shells and to watch the birds and the giant container ships making their way to port. i also had the opportunity to explain an f-bomb to our son since some lovely person had been a bit liberal with some spray paint on a sign. 

that piece of driftwood is tied to that time and place. that piece of family time we stole back in the midst of a chaotic world. 

our house is full of these stories. the mugs i collect from various trips and adventures, most of the furniture we own, many of my clothes and shoes, the majority of my jewelry; it's handmade, handed-down, or found. thrifted. storied. tied to a memory in my mind. sometimes it's tied to a person and sometimes it's simply tied to the person i was when i found it. but life feels richer when i surround myself with memories. 

the coffee table itself i bought at goodwill for $10 six months before i moved to charlotte. it lived in my in-law's basement for 9 months until we signed a lease on our first apartment. 

our dining room table lived in my grandparents' house for about 30 years and even withstood their dining room chandelier falling out of the ceiling onto it. granted it survived without a dent from that experience because my grandparents were hoarders and there was so much piled on said table that the chandelier's blow was adequately cushioned and no damage was done to the table.

{yes, really.}

i love a good story. they remind me that i'm alive and connected to other people and places outside of myself. i love to look around my house, or look down at what i'm wearing, and remember that this life is not about me. and not only that, but those little stories of connection embedded in me remind me that we're all inside of a much bigger story. one that is not about any one of us, but is for everyone. {as i read once} Jesus came for everyone and every one. 

and that's the best story there is. 

because it's true. 

and it ties us together and to eternity

like nothing else can.

like no one else can.

i once was lost, but now am found.

praise be.

xoxo