1. I hope they learn to see the messes.

When I bring home a chair covered in chipping, dirty paint that stands on wobbly legs, I hope I’m teaching my children to see the mess. Instead of teaching them to divert their eyes from the broken, flawed things, I hope they’ll learn to take in every detail without judgement and accept the mess. Yes, sweet babies, this chair is broken. The seat is scratched, the paint is falling away and it can’t hold up much more weight than itself. Look. Do you see? Why is it important to me that they learn to see the messes? Because it takes time and tenderness to really see something for what it is; it requires a gentleness, a soft hand and an open heart.

2. I hope they’ll appreciate good bones.

Once they’ve seen the mess, then maybe they’ll learn to look just beyond the flaws to see the strength hiding beneath the surface. The very thing holding it all together. When you see them, the good bones, you have something to build upon. That, in my book, is the very definition of hope.

3. I hope. I hope, I hope, I hope.

If I can teach them to spot good bones in something as simple as a chair, then maybe, just maybe, they’ll see good bones in messy people, messy seasons or, God willing, themselves. When you see the good bones, you know there is something left of value. It can, and is worth, being saved.

4. I hope they will work with gentle, able hands.

When it comes time to mend, I hope they will remember how I sat in the grass on a summer-like spring day to lovingly fix what someone deemed unfixable. I hope, with gentleness that shouldn’t be misjudged as weakness, they will peel, strip, strengthen and rebuild until those good bones are evident even to the Glancers─the ones who take only enough time to see the surface.

5. I hope they will savor their work.

The work will never truly be done. Instead of seeing the toil as a curse, I hope they’ll find joy in the labor. I hope they’ll be grateful for able hands, warm sunshine, hope-spotting eyes. I hope that even if their work is something as simple as transforming an old chair, they’ll do it with great heart and empathy for the broken things. I hope they’ll create safe, loving places for the mended things to gather. I hope they’ll have warm nights with bullfrogs croaking an early summer song as the wind whispers through ferns and they have so much fun swinging, their feet barely touch the floor.

To see the full reveal of our suburban-to-Southern front porch makeover, check out the Everything But the House blog!