Intentional Positivity

Today I passed a house that most people would describe with an intentional sigh.

Its roof had caved in places, the garden had grown into a small jungle of its own invention, and the windows looked like they had spent years quietly listening to the wind.

But instead of thinking, “Oh no…”

my first thought was,

“I like that!”

My friend looked at me the way one looks at a person who has just announced they plan to adopt a raccoon.

“You… like that?”

“Well sure,” I said. “Everyone needs a skylight.”

When I looked at that broken roof, I didn’t see damage. I saw sunlight waiting for permission to come inside.

I imagined leaving part of the roof open on purpose and building a gazebo that stretched out from the house, as well as a little sitting place tucked between wood beams and climbing vines. I saw flowers reaching up through the old garden, too. I saw lanterns hanging from the rafters and the evening sky becoming the ceiling.

Tea on the table heard birds gossiping in the trees, as a wandering  breeze flowed through like it had been invited.

Suddenly that old house didn’t feel forgotten at all.

It felt like a place with stories still left to tell.

Life has a funny way of handing us situations that look like unfinished ruins.

Plans collapse.

Dreams wobble.

Parts of our carefully built “roofs” sometimes fall in.

And when that happens, our first instinct is usually to think something has gone terribly wrong.

But what if the opening isn’t destruction?

What if it’s a skylight?

What if the place where something broke is simply where the light is trying to get in?

Sometimes God doesn’t rebuild our lives exactly the way they were before. Sometimes He turns the broken place into something unexpected.

A garden grows where a wall used to stand.

A window appears where we thought there was none.

And occasionally…

a gazebo grows right out of the roof.

Not just the neat things.

Not just the polished parts.

All things.

Even the houses with holes in the roof.

Think of a situation in your life that feels messy, broken, or unfinished.

Now imagine looking at it the way a dreamer might.

Where could the light come in?

What small bit of beauty might be hiding there?

What if that broken spot is actually the place where something whimsical is about to grow?

“Where there is breath, there is still a song to sing.” — A Psalmist’s Praise, Karin-Rochelle

March 11, 2026

Picture created by karin with help from Ai.