From Sorrowful Chaos to Beautiful Chaos

Good morning beautiful. I promised to share more about my current project. There’s something about seeing potential in the broken that attracts me. The weathered and the seemingly unfixable have always drawn me in. Over the years, I’ve found myself captivated not just by fixer-upper houses. I’m also drawn to “project men”—men with rough edges, untold stories, and scars they carry from life. Like a house that’s stood through storms and seasons, they hold a hidden beauty beneath the surface. I’ve always felt that if I just put in the work, it would all be worth it. Seeing them through to their best would make the effort worthwhile.

This journey with my fixer-upper isn’t just about building walls and patching roofs. It reflects my own patterns and my need to nurture. It also shows my belief that transformation is possible. It’s a reminder. We are often drawn to these projects by a desire to see beauty where others miss it. We want to create something lasting from what feels fragile. For those who’ve been there—who’ve loved, labored, and invested in both homes and hearts—you know the journey isn’t easy. However, moments of clarity and completion make it all worth it.

I landed here solo but some of my kids showed up with their partners. In total I had 5 young adults in this dilapidated home. I felt embarrassed at first, but they share my vision and truly enjoyed the freedom this place provides. A few days after their arrival, I woke in the middle of the night. I heard the rocking sounds of a mandala drum kit. My youngest daughter was playing her bass guitar. My oldest son’s voice echoed through the construction site. The house vibrated with music and it made my heart sing.

They are go getters like their mother. In the vastness of this unforgiving desert, they crafted a music room from nothing but dust and silence. Their industrious spirits brought it to life. With limited resources, they transformed a barren space into a sanctuary for sound. Their boundless creativity turned it into a place where melodies now rise against the quiet vastness. The music echoes their drive to create beauty where there was once only emptiness. The music intertwined with laughter, filling the space with a rare sense of solace. It’s been a tough few years. There were many hurdles to overcome. Some hardships nearly broke me. Others transformed into small victories. My faith and sheer determination will help me see this through.

Now, as I sit here at sunrise, I gather my thoughts. I can’t help but question my sanity for taking on another fixer-upper of this magnitude. The golden light slowly spreads across the barren land. It touches the dust and rocks with a gentle warmth. I wonder… why do I do this to myself? Why, after all I’ve been through, do I choose the hard path over and over? Will life ever be easy for me?

I think back to my birthday at the end of August. It was 6:09 a.m., and I woke up at a nearby hotel. I realized I needed to be there by 7 if I wanted to see the for sale by owner property I found on Craigslist. I quickly threw on some clothes and rushed out the door. As I drove through the desert, the roads were unforgiving—bumpy, rocky, dust clouds rising behind me. My vintage Lexus convertible was not the right car for the job. Without cell service, I had no idea if I was even on the right path. It was just me and the vastness of the desert. The silence was almost loud, the kind that presses against your skin.

And then, in the distance, I spotted a large wooden house. It seemed to rise from the dust like something out of a forgotten fairy tale. Its wooden frame was worn and weathered by time. Yet, there was something enchanting about it. It felt as if it had a story to tell. I turned down the driveway next to it, gravel crunching beneath my tires. My heart sank as I saw where the path led. A second, unfinished house was hidden behind the first. It was in a state of near catastrophic disrepair.

As I pulled into the dirt driveway, my breath caught in my throat. It was still early, too early to be out here alone with no service, surrounded by unfamiliar land. Part of me wanted to turn back. As I drove up the driveway, a man stepped out of the unfinished house. His figure blended with the mess of land around him. There was no turning back now.

I stopped the car. As I opened the door, a pack of dogs rushed toward me. They barked fiercely but quickly warmed to my presence. I stood still, feeling the heat of the early morning sun on my skin, taking in the sorrowful chaos around me. The land was littered with the remnants of projects—started but never finished. Piles of materials lay scattered about, a patchwork of intentions left undone. The air was thick with dust. I felt it settling in my lungs. It seemed as if this place had already begun to consume me.

The man invited me inside. The moment I crossed the threshold, my chest tightened, anxiety creeping up my spine. The house was overwhelming—filled with years of accumulation, clutter everywhere, suffocating in its density. They say one man’s treasure is another man’s junk. If this was treasure to him, it was nothing but an overwhelming amount of junk to me. I stood there, barely able to breathe, the weight of the place pressing down on me. This was not what I had imagined.

I told him flatly that it was a hard no. I couldn’t take on a project this immense. It does not align with my minimalist spirit. I longed for clean lines, open space, and simplicity. The sheer magnitude of what needed to be done felt insurmountable. But then, something shifted. We sat outside on chairs that had seen better days, sipping coffee while the dogs lay at our feet. As I gazed at the desert stretching far beyond, I noticed the mountains painted in soft pastels. I had one of those visions I sometimes get. I saw the potential despite the rubble, the bones of a dream hidden beneath the dust.

By 3:20 that afternoon, I signed the contract. By 4:20, it was submitted to the title company, and just over two weeks later, I closed on the property. Now, a couple of weeks into being here, the reality of it all has set in. A lot of work has been done, but the scale of what remains is staggering. I sit here this morning, watching the sunrise, contemplating what today will bring. There’s still so much to do. It feels impossible. I remind myself to breathe. Take it one step at a time.

As the sun climbs higher, it paints the sky in shades of gold and amber. I ask myself again—why do I make life so hard for myself? But then, as the warmth of the morning light wraps around me, I remember… this is the journey. Transforming the broken and forgotten, the challenge, the moments of doubt—this is all part of it. And maybe, just maybe, the deeper meaning is in the unfolding of it all.

This fixer-upper home has reminded me of the thrill I find in certain projects. Projects that push boundaries. They demand more than I initially think I have to give. For me, these ventures aren’t just tasks; they’re transformative journeys. Each project becomes a mirror. It reflects my resilience and my desire to create beautiful chaos from sorrowful chaos. I gain a sense of satisfaction that only comes from diving into the unknown and emerging with something lasting. It’s about embracing the mess, trusting the process, and learning from every challenge.

If you’re like me, drawn to daunting projects that light a fire within you, I’d love to hear your story. Please reach out and share the times you’ve taken on the “impossible” and found joy in the process. What drives you to begin? What keeps you going when the way forward isn’t clear? Let’s celebrate the courage to take on challenges that are beyond our capabilities. Appreciate the satisfaction of seeing them through to completion. I hope you are having a truly inspirational day.

A gentle reminder from my heart to yours. From the depths of sorrowful chaos, we rise, shaping each shattered piece into beautiful chaos; a life re-imagined. Resilience and creativity turn heartache into art.