mama3girls-phnig

I promise the goal was not to fall in love with a pair of doors.

I never set out to do so, wasn’t even shopping for them at the time, and honestly didn’t even know it was possible to fall in love with doors—especially when we already have a beautiful set and didn’t “need” them. It was a wind chime type of day—and, to be fair, it was a wind chime store. So, I’m kinda blameless here…

But fall in love I did, right there amongst the wind chimes.

They were breathtaking.

Years ago, when we custom built a home, I spent quite a bit of time looking at doors. I knew what custom millwork cost. I knew what upgraded entryways looked like. What I didn’t know was that original antique doors were even a thing one could find, much less in a wind chime store. It never occurred to me—and random things occur to me constantly.

Who knows. What I do know is they were $4000.

They might as well have said “priceless” for my purposes because 4K is very, very much out of budget and, again, I didn’t “need” them. Jimmy is practical and works very hard so we have everything we need. Need. There’s that pesky word again. If left to my whims regarding beauty, we’d be living in a hole somewhere. With impractically beautiful doors.

But it didn’t really matter. As I stood there gaping at them, I felt like the doors were telling me to move on. I wasn’t for them. No providence here, friend.

They made no apologies.

Let me tell you about the doors that knew their worth.

The Style

They were early 1800s English Gothic Revival. This wasn’t just a design choice; it was a passionate rebellion against the flat, unfeeling lines of the industrial age—a romantic movement meant to bring the dramatic, soulful majesty of medieval sanctuaries directly into the living world.

They looked to have led a life of prominence, and I arrived at that conclusion for more than a few reasons. The deliberate choice of heavy, old-growth European oak tells you everything—this was a luxury material selected not for convenience, but for its eternal weight, presence, and status. Whatever their original purpose, frugality clearly wasn’t driving the decision. Prominence was.

The Shape

I’ve never seen a matching set of doors at Lowe’s or Home Depot that came together in this way. Commercially prefabbed, assembly-line entryways don’t see the value in architectural intricacy.

These doors possessed architectural relief so stunning that it belied the logic behind trading craftsmanship in millwork to its whore cousin, economic efficiency.

You just got it in the presence of that kind of awesome.

They came together in a cathedral arch (divinely inspired), with the seams lining up so perfectly it was as if both doors were mirrored, identical twins.

That arch was your favorite carpenter’s worst nightmare.

There was no stock door frame one could buy and install for the head of these beauties. It would all have to be hand-done by a master carpenter. And, if said master carpenter actually wanted to make money with his time, the cost alone would further exclude them from purchase.

Because these doors knew their worth, the whore cousin couldn’t—and really shouldn’t—ever be involved in their use.

Whatever their original purpose, frugality clearly wasn’t driving the decision. Prominence was.

The Stature

They were taller than modern-day doors.

I’m not sure they actually were much taller—but they felt immense. Substantial. A presence so large they took up the whole room.

There was security in that feeling. Protection existed under their sturdy frame.

You knew they could weather a good storm and still gladly work the next day when others needed them. I had the weirdest feeling the doors stood a little taller because they knew someone valued them and would keep them.

Maybe that was it.

Or maybe confidence just has a way of adding height.

The Trim Beveling

Count yourself lucky if your house has an original antique door with its trim beveling intact. Chances are the trim work is not simple. The unique grooving alone would be hard enough to match for repair, but if there are bends in the bevel to trim out a panel?

Forget it.

These doors still had their handmade architectural beveling. Glorious bends and grooves that made a girl thank God someone existed who possessed the care, concern, and dogged determination to finish a job with this much precision.

Against the odds, they had become more charming with age.

The Glass

Never before had I seen sea glass used to let light in.

I mean, what the frick?

What level of genius thought to go that route? To be clear, I’m not sure it actually was sea glass, but judging by everything else, I wouldn’t have been surprised. The glass was cloudy and undulating—transparent, but in the best way—guarding the hearts inside. That subtle blue-green put me at peace instantly.

No exaggeration.

The way the light cast through them tinted the room with vibrancy and life. A few panes were cracked or missing—still in need of repair.

Again, I’ll say, the doors weren’t sorry.

They belonged to someone who wouldn’t settle for the whore cousin anyway.

They belonged to Someone willing and able to invest in them.

The Character

Flaws that made no excuses. I ran my fingers over the beveling and felt the impressions life had added to their charm. “What happened here” I wondered. I invented whole stories in my mind. These doors had lived a life worth telling about.

But most unbelievably was their preservation. Someone had taken the time to keep them structurally sound. But, they weren’t trying to be something they weren’t. They knew they were vintage. The undiscerning might simply label them old-fashioned and drive to the nearest box store.

A rare find was what they were—and they had relaxed into that state. A calm, confident constitution was the most attractive feature I found. The store owner at one point clued in to my fascination. “They’re lovely, aren’t they?” I was speechless–cleared my throat, “yes. yes. yes”.

There’s a beauty to something that bears its marks openly, makes no excuses for the lessons etched into its surface, yet still stands strong.

Those character flaws felt strangely perfect for a set of doors.

They created humility. Welcome. No judgment.

We all have imperfections.

Don’t be intimidated to come inside.

Staring at these doors made me appreciate something deeper—hidden beauty wrapped in strength.

Strength that doesn’t need to announce itself usually doesn’t. I like to make things into lessons. Beauty in life deserves verbal credit. Though, if I’m honest, these days I often get a dramatic “moooooom! Not everything has to be a lesson,” when my girls see the “creative mom” spark.

As I raise three teenage girls, I find myself praying God reveals the truth of this unspoken lesson to them. I pray I have been teaching them in a thousand small ways their whole lives.

Know your worth.

Make no excuses for it.

Confidently go in the knowledge that a Master Craftsman designed you and is willing to invest in your upkeep. Don’t settle for the look of the whore cousin. Those doors will never work for you anyway because that’s not who you were created to be.

Not everyone will recognize craftsmanship.

Not everyone will understand rarity.

Some people prefer convenience, familiarity, and what costs them very little.

Let them.

Your worth is not determined by whether others recognize it but by Who created you.

My prayer is that you learn to recognize your own value and develop the wisdom to know the counterfeit of beauty.

While you still have purposeful work to do, by Masterful design, you are, above all, a valued, inspired, and priceless piece of art.

Love,
Mama