Someday, I will live in a yellow house


Someday, I Will Live In a Yellow House

On my way to wherever it is that I’m going to, I walk down a street lined with old growth trees, BMWs, and charming two-storey homes built sometime mid-twentieth century. It’s that time of year when the trees are starting to bud and bloom, long after the cherry blossoms have come and gone. And the rain — oh, the rain that comes with living in a coastal rainforest — drowns the daffodils and chokes the azaleas.

As I round the corner to walk up to my favourite cafe to get another afternoon of work done, it’s one particular house that catches my attention. It’s humble — a bungalow, really — and sits sandwiched between a large blue-stucco house and the run-of-the-mill “Vancouver Special”. But something about it calls to me. And, as I’ve been learning in my online leadership course with Tara Mohr, listening to callings is oh-so-important.

It could be the French door. It could be the front yard, with the azaleas and lush green grass. It could be the white trim or the beautifully-kept steps that lead into the house. It could be the Tiffany lamp that’s always on in the front room of the house. It could even be the stucco siding.

It could be anything, really.

But really, it couldn’t be.

As I walked down the street on this particular day, I took my earbuds out and stood across the street from this house. I regarded the architecture, the landscaping, and the Tiffany lamp. I thought, “This is the first time I’ve actually seen this house.” Sure, I’ve looked at it admiringly but seeing — really seeing — is a different matter. Rain tugged at my resolve. I stood fast.

What this house — this buttercup yellow house — represents is promise. Hope. Family. Unexpected meaning in unexpected places, even. When I look at the yellow house, I see a future. An idealistic future, perhaps, but a future all the same.

Someday, I will live in a yellow house.

Image is my own!

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