Once upon a time, a young couple moved into their very own home.  They’d initialed papers until their hands nearly revolted, and now the home was theirs. They loved that little house:  a cottage, she called it; a bungalow, others said. There was room to spare, and their meager apartment furnishings looked lost in their new surroundings.  
Years went by, the family grew, life happened, as it is wont to do, and the house began to shrink.  Once in a while, that lady would look around think—if only I had more [cupboard space. Closet space. Shelving. Storage. Room to breathe.] And then gently, faithfully, her creator-God would remind her: I have provided.
He is the giver of enough. He blessed us with this home, he has allowed us to dwell snugly under its roof, and he has gently, time and time again, shown me—we have more than enough.

Our home truly is enough, at least for where we are now. In fact, it’s double the size of any other place we’ve lived in our married life, there's room to grow, and it’s home.
Those moments that grab me with discontentment often come about not because of “not enough space,” but because of either “too much stuff” or “failure to take advantage of the space we have” or, most tragically, "failure to give thanks for the abundance we have."
And now, lest I ramble on without an end in sight and exhaust the posting possibilities running amuck in my head, let me just say…
Welcome.  Join me on this journey of redeeming found space and making room to live.
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