Where the lovelight gleams

The tumultuous work of renovation.

[The thoughts below were originally written as a Christmas meditation on the meaning of Home.]

I began the year 2024 with a renovation of the guest bathroom in my home, a 1908 Queen Anne cottage. I’d started planning the work the previous fall, hiring an architect for drawings and securing help and advice from two skilled friends who had done lots of work on the house over the years. But it would be the first major project I coordinated by myself since my divorce two years earlier. “The bathroom is the smallest room in the house,” I thought. “How hard could it be? Surely I can get it done in about two months, three max.”

What I hadn’t counted on were the complexities of relocating the shower, toilet and sink; securing multiple required construction permits (four!) with the city; illnesses and vacations of contractors; barricading pets daily from the work zone; delays in the arrival of custom items; my own occasional travel; replacement of an electrician whose license expired (those pesky city permits!); moving one of the two wall sconces so the mirror was centered over the sink and between the sconces; and a devastating mistake by the plumber, which resulted in not one but TWO major flooding incidents, requiring ServPro equipment running 24/7 for almost a week to dry everything out.

While that unfolded at home, at my work as the executive director of the Tennessee Theatre, we were finally beginning construction on a $20 million expansion project in a neighboring historic building, an opportunity that emerged in 2018 but was paused for over four years mostly due to the pandemic. Since late 2022 I’d met monthly with architects, interior designers, construction management, and a project development team. I attended scores of meetings, made countless choices big and small, dealt with adjacent property owners inconvenienced by the construction, and met with donor prospects for the fundraising campaign. It was no surprise that we encountered unknown conditions in a century-old building not thoroughly maintained for the majority of its existence. All the while, the Theatre was churning through hundreds of performances enjoyed by hundreds of thousands of patrons.

At times, all of it was overwhelming. At home or the office, there was no escape from the dust, the details, the decisions, the delays. The upheaval was unsettling. There were long periods where I couldn’t see a clear path forward, and I was forced to focus on one day at a time. Many days I wanted to give up. I relied heavily on one of my worker-friends as the bathroom renovation dragged on and on. The Theatre’s project manager and its attorney were cheerleaders and confidants, and my coworkers supported me while I navigated the toughest parts of the expansion project. An encouragement I heard often from the attorney: “We will get through this. I’m not sure how or when, but I know we will.”

Then one day, in August – yes, seven months after starting – my bathroom was finished. Although it was more expensive than I’d hoped, it turned out exactly as I had envisioned it in my head. And just a month later, the Theatre’s expansion project cleared a significant hurdle, giving the contractor the green light to proceed without further delay. It allowed us to finally solidify the construction schedule and confirm a completion date. In both cases, I felt a great sense of relief, and an infusion of confidence: Yes, I really can do this.

---

The bathroom project and the Theatre expansion were external, visible reminders of the internal, personal renovation that was underway — emotional and spiritual work that began in 2017 during a rough patch in my marriage, and continued more intensely when that union unraveled in late 2021. The life I knew, the life I thought was my future, had been totally demolished. I had to start over.

First, I learned to love myself, which for me meant understanding that my value and worth are defined not by others or outward sources, but by God’s presence within me. That exploration and realization set a profound knowledge and comforting peace deep within my core. It’s a truth that resonates fully when I make the time to contemplate and reflect. (More on all that in future ITMOS writings.)

More recently, I’ve been learning how to like myself, which is something else entirely. It’s pretty important for me to figure this out, since I am the only person I am 100% certain I’ll live with for the rest of my life. Liking myself and my own company happens in the everyday and ordinary, but it is precisely in the midst of the ordinary that entire precious lives are pieced together. This reminds me of a thought by Father Greg Boyle:

“Jesus doesn’t lose any sleep that we will forget that the Eucharist is sacred; he is anxious that we might forget that it is ordinary, that it’s a meal shared among friends. Because if we don’t see that, then we’ll be unable to recognize the sacred in the ordinary. And that is the incarnation.”

So, what does recognizing the sacred in the ordinary, enjoying my own company, look like? It’s finding contentment in nights at home alone, a simple supper on a TV tray while watching British crime dramas on PBS. Buying a single concert ticket or scheduling a massage after a long day. Pursuing my own dreams and goals, like attending writing workshops and imagining retirement options. Walking the dog through my beloved neighborhood — no phone calls, no music in my ears… just silence. Nurturing friendships old and new, especially cherishing women friends who encourage me to see first-hand all the goodness and promise and divine presence that they already see in me. Being able to laugh at myself, and to forgive her when things don’t go precisely as planned — like a two-month bathroom renovation that plods along for seven months.

Just like grief or a construction project, the process of liking Becky Hancock has not been linear. I have had setbacks and unforeseen detours. It has cost me more than I expected, but not in a monetary sense. There have been disappointments, and decisions I wished I didn’t have to make alone. There have been days when I want to give up. And there have been so many tears. But here is where the earlier work of learning to love myself shines through. I can return to that holy truth: Emmanuel, God with(in) me. And my own wise-woman voice, tended and amplified over the last few years, kindly reminds me: Yes, you can really do this.

My internal renovation work is not yet done and there’s not a timeline for completion, but the foundations are there. The structure is sound. It is starting to take shape. I’m creating a sacred, ordinary space that welcomes home the Divine. Someday soon, I’ll live with a head and heart and gut that knows me and loves me — even likes me — better than anyone else ever could. It’s a shift in perspective from being by myself to being with my Self. I can’t think of a more worthy project.