So, about every month in recent memory, Rebecca and I cuddle up on the couch and browse the Pottery Barn catalog. We dream about a house that is warm, spiritually decadent in its inviting environment, a place where colors and textures birth conversation, laughter, and recuperation after a long day of work. In other words, we love to dream about what our home could be and might be--if only we had the designer style, the unlimited budget, or the patient vision to build a coherently organized and creatively arranged room over time--one item at a time.
We've talked about building a Pottery Barn-like mirror (thanks to DIY websites) and purchasing look-a-like living room items from Target (Pottery Barn-lite if you do it right...). We've crafted our "mantle" (well, technically a couple of book cases that we pushed together with a computer screen on one of the shelves that plays a fireplace screen saver--it crackles!) to invoke the pottery barn cluster of candles and accessories that seems so relaxing on the pages of the catalog. Yes, we want that Pottery Barn "feel."
It never crossed my mind to imagine myself engaging in pornographic escapism of the house-decor ilk; but then again, most things we do and enjoy are prone to alternative interpretations, even catalog browsing. And these alternative interpretations can be helpful correctives. Or at least provocative pokes that keep our hearts anchored. So, even if you don't feel yourself to be the kind of person Erin describes in this post (self-loathing via shabby house decor), still the following post is a wonderful read: a read that reminds us that the most mundane activities (yes, even browsing a home decor catalog) are rife with spiritual dimensions and bustling with theological dynamics. Like a nice cup of joe, a cozy couch, and a stylish catalog, I hope you enjoy your time with this post.