“A new house would be nice.” I murmur to my husband.

Anything would be better than this.

I don’t know how many tens or hundreds of families have lived and died in our home. I can’t imagine this house in its prime during the late 1800’s.

Yeah, 1800’s. Guys, the zipper wasn’t even invented until 1893. Not your typical “Oh my gosh, this house is so old—like, 20 years!”

My husband, our one-year-old daughter and I are renting the place until we find our first dream home.

You know, the dream home where you don’t release a disappointing sigh before you go to bed.

Our farm house rests in Small Town, Nebraska. We have cows fifteen yards from our front door and we can’t see our neighbors past the corn fields surrounding us.

Our siding is light blue, faded and chipped. The uneven foundation is visible from the long, gravel driveway and the roof is twice as low on one side of the house than the other.

I’m sure our home endured a lot of talking amongst its residents during WWI, the Holocaust, or maybe even the Civil War. Perhaps the Statue of Liberty was a new topic of discussion when this house was first built.

I don’t know.

All I know is that it’s 2017, it’s a one-of-a-kind and our one-year-old daughter will probably never forget it…  you know, as soon as she realizes that all homes don’t have a Leaning Room, where we must shove items beneath our appliances to make it level with the rest of the floor.

Again, “A new house would be nice.”

But, I’m not the only one living here.

When my daughter presses her nose against her bedroom window to look out at the cows, she doesn’t notice to the wind seeping through the window frame or the dirt on the sill. She just happily stares at the cows and moo’s back. Sometimes she plays peek-a-boo with them and waves frantically.

Usually, I adjust the temperature every couple of hours based on the amount of wind coming through the cracks. I groan at the baby gate that came detached due to the uneven walls. I check Zillow to see if any dream homes within the area are for sale.

Anything would be better than this.

But then again tonight was distinctive.

When I laid my sweet baby in her crib, she closed her eyes and drifted away. I gazed at her peacefulness and ease with her world. I continued the nightly routine of sweeping the dirt off the kitchen floor for the fifth time today, changed the thermostat, checked the mouse traps and…

Prayed.

Lord,

Help me see my home through my child’s eyes.

Let me be content with the dirt spilling into the kitchen floor, proof of our front yard exploration.

Let me be gratified by the loud bellows of the cows, proof of my daughter’s growing education of farm animals.

Let me relish the moments where my daughter doesn’t care about the age and faults of our home while other parents are fraught with teenagers throwing tantrums about not having the latest iPhone.

Let me rejoice that my daughter is growing up to see that materialistic possessions don’t correlate with happiness.

Let me cherish the inexpensive rent and unique experiences this home offers.

Let me see this not-so-dream home through my child’s eyes, where all she sees is the love she’s surrounded by.

Amen.

“A new house would be nice.” I murmured to my husband,

but this one has the lesson I needed to learn.