I started Frantic Finch long before I did anything about it. I began the journey before taking any steps. It was mental exercising. The wishing-hoping-planning stage consumed my brain but the action-motion-doing stage was pending my signal to GO! I had a bunch of thoughts about how this was going to happen. I had drawers full of random slips of paper with hard to read handwritten notes. Whenever I had a *moment of brilliance,* I would grab a pen, crayon or eyeliner pencil and write on the back of torn envelopes, free bookmarks (Gasp, I know. Don't judge) or if I was super organized that day, an actual sheet of note paper.
Anyhoo, I had notes and ideas. Yippee. I felt like I needed a *space* to pour out my creative genius. An area in our home that was destined to be the place where all inspiration would flow to and through. I needed a writing desk. *TA-DA* Brilliant thinking on my part. So very productive in my quest for Finchdom. <-----made that word up.
My patient and supportive husband took me to almost every local antique shop and let me find the desk that was beckoning to be mine and Finchy's <-----nickname, not sure if I like it. I don't know if it's going to stick.
When I rounded the corner and found *IT*, I knew it. This desk was exactly what I had in mind. Simple lines with the slightest flair on the legs. Deep drawers on the sides and a trough for pens and pencils in the center drawer. It was old. It smelled old. I loved it. (And they were having a 20% off sale that day!) What luck! It was meant to be. We loaded the new-to-me-old desk into the Sienna and I was thrilled! I was exhilarated and couldn't wait to work at my writing desk.
Fast forward several months and we were celebrating my daughter's 12th birthday. What she wanted for her birthday was a bedroom makeover. Sounds boring and awful for a young girl to ask for but she had outgrown pink and yellow juvenile prints and wanted more of a teen look with coral, tan and beachy blues and a bigger bed. Her long legs had been tucked into a twin since she was out of a crib and she apparently wants to sleep like a starfish rather than Dracula. Whatever. And the only other thing she wanted was a desk, because my little girl didn't want to do her homework while sitting at the kitchen table. *Sniff* The days of shoulder-to-shoulder working on English, Math and Science were over. She was getting more and more independent and she wanted to do her homework all by herself in her bedroom. I was sad. Not really. I was delighted.
Back to the desk. She wanted a desk. I loved my desk so I thought it would be a big pile of fun to help her find *the* desk. I was wrong. It was awful. We went to the same antique stores my husband and I had gone to and then I realized she's not much into antiques. Then we went to the malls and department stores and determined she doesn't really like new furniture either. We looked online and couldn't find the style or size to fit her. Two months of searching produced nothing.
This is the tale of two desks. A true story.
For weeks, I passed by her bedroom door and gazed upon her transformed teenage space with a mixed bag of jumbled up feelings. I stood there and held onto it like the laundry basket. She was growing up and growing out of her little girl land and making the big leap into independence and the emotional adolescent world. One afternoon as she sat cross legged on her bigger bed working on her school assignment, I couldn't take it anymore.
I emptied out my writing desk, piled everything into boxes and asked my husband to help me carry my desk to our daughter's room. He didn't dispute it, but I could tell what he was thinking when the corner of his mouth creased into a question. I dusted the desk for the sheer joy of doing it and wiped out the drawers for good measure. Each time I opened a drawer, that delicious old fragrance would beckon me to sit down and create. I closed each one and knew it was only temporary and we would find a desk for her soon.
Her eyes sparkled when we came into her room and set the desk down in front of her bed. She scrambled off the side and squealed. "I can have Mom's?" I gave her a teary smile and said "Yes, you can! -- Let's make some room over here okay?" When we moved it into place and turned on the small desk lamp, the glow cast a warm shadow on the wall and filled her room so nicely. She twirled and grinned and my heart danced with her. She was happy so I was happy.
And for one week I was without my writing desk. One. Week. That's it. Because as soon as I gave up something that meant a lot to me, something better came along for her. A new-old desk from an online yard sale of all places. I wish I had given my desk to her two months ago. We kept searching and thinking we would find *the one* for her but time passed by before I realized what I should have done. But here's the funny thing. I think it happened for a reason. God was giving me a lesson. A refresher course on giving. Something so small can change everything. You never know how He will work things out, but His timing is perfect. God will always provide more if you give what He gave you, away.
Seeds to Share
Deuteronomy 16:17 - Every man shall give as he is able, according to the blessing of the LORD your God which He has given you.