A Home of Ordinary Things

 “Your home should tell the story of who you are, and be a collection of what you love.” —Nate Berkus, The Things That Matter

After living overseas for nearly a decade, I’m happy to say that my hallway is no longer lined and stacked with the infamous black bins with yellow grid lids. Instead, they sit stacked at the end of the hall or used as storage under the bed. They are as much a part of the house as our red brick walls or tiled floor. They are a visual I would rather not see but know will always be here. It’s how we brought over our must-have belongings in the beginning and how we still lug comfort foods, homeschooling items, and other North American goodies across the world.

Over the years, however, I have less and less of my initial home decor on display. Somewhere in building a house and creating our home abroad, I’ve either resorted to DIY-ing my own or replacing them with items found locally, and I have slowly gathered a collection of items brought to Uganda from all over the world. This hodgepodge home is full of treasures lugged over by other expats—both adored and surrendered as families have transitioned back to their other homes.

Like a little museum that’s tucked itself into our home, gathering dust here and there, each item has found its own place with its own imaginary tag dangling with memories of dear friends logged, listed, and securely attached.

The colorful dishes that replaced our other hand-me-downs now line our shelf and match my kitchen of teal, yellow, and pink. These dishes were given to me by a friend who was so gifted at hosting. I’d sit for hours sipping iced coffees at her wooden kitchen table and find the much-needed space to process my life, as she shared about hers. Whether canning salsa together, eating focaccia bread, making pizza, or sharing cookies from her freezer as the kids grabbed-and-dashed out the screen door—these memories flood my mind and I long to be sitting at her kitchen table once more.

My daughter’s collection of sweet little critters come alive in a refurbished wooden dollhouse, initially brought over from the UK but too heavy to be taken back. Now it provides hours of play with gingerly placed miniature wooden furniture for a family of velvety mice and squirrels to make their home in. Originally a precious gift for their own daughter before being passed on to mine, it leaves a lingering reminder of sweet friends who left the country years ago but, in our hearts, haven’t gone far at all.

The well-used white, wooden laundry rack has seen better days. It currently stands, somewhat sturdy, with practically a whole roll of duct tape holding the broken bits together. Useless to the dear friend who was packing to go, it is a blessing to us in rainy seasons when we rush to bring the almost-dry clothes in. Every time it is lugged across the yard, I’m reminded of the days spent in the home where it used to reside: the early and chaotic days of adding more children to our family, our two wild toddlers running about with squeals, giggles, and always so much noise. Those weekly playdates provided the space and deep friendship I needed, always involving coffee and chats on my friend’s sofa.

In every nook and cranny, a memory of a friend who once lived life alongside our family remains. The decor of our house is less and less like the vintage home I was desperately trying to recreate when I was anxious for some resemblance of the comfort I’d previously known. Years later, our home has become more of a mosaic, an intermingling of life in Uganda and of those who have been a part of our story.

Our brown couch

A cast-iron pan

The large wooden world map

Board games

A mug or two (or six or eight)

That hand-crank coffee grinder

Cute owl bookends

A sewing machine

The box of mason jars

A handmade crib for dolls

Weathered and worn books

An unused pumpkin spice candle

A plant in a handmade macrame holder

And a whole lot more

I’ve longed to feel at home in the world, rooted deep and flourishing in this life living and serving others overseas. Often, I’ve searched for that feeling to be found in our home itself. However, our home is still unfinished, with electrical wires dangling like grey garland and that second coat of saffron paint still needed on the feature wall of the kitchen. Yet, as I look beyond the breadcrumbs that still linger on the countertop or the pile of laundry needing to be folded, I find a home filled with love and good memories.

Our home tells the story of pioneering, becoming a family, finding contentment in the mess, the opportunity for creativity, and the deepening of relationships with those around us. Little by little, our home has become cozy in its own way with an eclectic museum of memories—of those who helped us find belonging here. As I notice all the ways my home feels comforting, it is memories of dear friends who have entered into our lives and left us a piece of theirs that I treasure the most.

What items do you have in your home that remind you of those who have left a mark on your heart and life? What are the stories your home tells?

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*First published with Velvet Ashes: https://velvetashes.com/a-home-of-ordinary-things/