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The art of decorating and the art of creating sacred space start with the same elements, according to Mary Groves.7 As codirector of the Sacred Art of Living Center in Bend, Oregon, Groves is intimately involved with planning the ambience of programs and presentations as well as content. “Both decor and sacred space involve beautiful items,” she says. Both involve the use of color themes, fabrics, live plants, birds, or fish—and design, the manner in which they’re put together—to change a room.”
After completing an interior decorating course earlier in her life, Groves realized that the only people who could afford her service would be the wealthy. She says that idea turned her off:
“I wanted to do this for people who shop atWal-Mart. I wanted to go into somebody’s home and help them rearrange what they’ve already got.”
Working for years with Hospice, Groves realized by visiting people’s homes as a volunteer and bereavement coordinator that beyond the way a home is decorated, everyone has altars in their living spaces. We all display things that are important to us,” she says. Groves realized that the element of s/gnificance is what makes them not just decorations, but sacred objects. ‘Rather than putting my collection of mementos ortrophies on this shelf because I’m proud of them,” Groves says, ‘I recognize it’s more than thatThese things represent a lot of energy that I’ve put into Iife.They stand for who I am.The intention with which I place them make them more than just something to look at.They become an extension of me, an expression of my soul.”
Groves now creates altars and sacred spaces for educational workshop environments—the Art of Spiritual Discernment, the Sacred Art of Dying, and Taize Vespers worship, an interfaith prayer service. My belief is that all things are sacred,” she says. What we do with them either depletes us or inspires us to live in a better way.” Groves’s interior settings create a sense of God’s presence as well as beautiful backdrops that become centers of spiritual focus.
How might you transform the interior decoration in your home into sacred space? How might you create altars to God through your home?
• Pay attention to light, arrangement, and symbolism. An altar can be set up anywhere. It may even be carried with you in a
small box. just a little candle placed with care on a desk can transform practical space to a place of prayer
• Altars are made when you carefully arrange photographs of people you love or miss, items that represent places you’ve been, objects in which you’ve invested energy, colors that
have a particular significance.These may change the emotive
content of a room.
As Groves says, An altar is nothing more than a place to remember someone or something that is important to you.” It is a place to inspire you to live on and to live well.

In decor a fundamentally sensual response is at work with the spiritual. I found myself bringing earthy things into my home:
terra-cotta, iron, pebbles smoothed by river water, beach stones pocked by organisms and waves, spice-colored things like the red cinder on the roads where I live. I wouldn’t trade anything (anything!)—even convenience—for wood heat and firelight. If I buy jewelry, it is usually garnet and amber. I decorate with these too, hanging necklaces on pretty hooks or heaping bracelets in a crystal dish. Whenever something in a shade of blue was brought into my home, I found myself moving it around, then moving it out. Recognizing this pattern helped me learn more about myself
I read that some people need to be cooled down, others to be warmed up. I discovered that fire represents creativity while water represents activity and movement. Pinks and reds have long been associated with femininity, and blues with masculinity Investigating further, I recognized at last that having lived so long in a household of females (including all their female friends coming and going), my home harbors a lot of female energy—possibly an overload. Watching a random Home and Garden TV program, I learned that blues and the color black must be used to anchor reds. Now I’ve planted such anchors in my living spaces: a dark blue throw over the sofa, a carpet incorporating dark blue triangles with burgundies, a blue satin housecoat on the wall in my bedroom.
My goal is to create an artful journal of place and history in my home. That does not mean a “pulled together” decor that communicates a particular style or offers a coherent look. Flaws let in light. Imperfections and all, my home will reflect that which is most meaningftil for me, peace and a lively sense of fun. Why not have both? Home is where you live the life you really want, says Jane Alexander, author of Spirit of the Home. There are no perfect lives and there are no perfect homes, she explains, concluding that a home is made numinous by the love and feeling we invest in it.5
Frank Lloyd Wright believed that architecture is the master art form, and he reinvented it according to his own vision. Designing and building 769 buildings in his lifetime, both monumental and intimate, Wright saw that the space where people live would make the people who inhabit it different. He sometimes stipulated interior design for his homes as well, right down to where each table and chair should be placed.
Wright’s view of art was described by historian William Cronon:
“An artist . . . transforms nature by looking at nature, passing it through the soul, and in the expression… something more natural emerges. Which is as close as we get to God.”6
Indeed. Our homes and the sacred art of living in them are a link between heaven and earth. Invite God in.

As an experiment, I write questions for myself and tuck them into vases and pitchers, under candlesticks, and in books: What does my home want? What kind of person is my home inviting me to be? What concrete steps might take me there? What does my sofa want to wear? What messages do the walls want to pass along? If I could do one thing different this year, what would it be?
I will allow myself to live into the answers, educated by a rural existence close to nature, where weathered things mingle with new. Wear and tear is part of the charm. My windows don’t want to dress up, for instance. My fireside chair requests contours that hug and feel plush with wear of soft-on-the-skin upholstery. My walls ask for a dash of the theatrical: a colorful hat on the antler rack, a bright painting hung upside down.
My house is filling itself with symbols of where it wants to go—clutter-free, for one thing. It does not want to be overly attached to the past. That would imply fearing the future won’t bring anything as meaningful as what has gone before. Sentiment is often just a different kind of materialism that only seems less inane. My home will always be a work in progress.
Some things never change, of course, but very few. Among these, empty space in a room is universally essential. White space, as it is called in graphic design, leaves a place for personal interpretation and for emotional response to be processed. Along with light, empty space can enhance the sacred feel of an interior more efficiently than

A glimpse into a couple of pages of my three-dimensional scrapbook reflects recent changes in my life:
• I found that I preferred furniture to be arranged at diagonals. Afterward I read that doing so is an antidote to disharmony collecting in corners. (Does that mean I’m doing the right thing, or that I should work on the disharmony in my home? This has become an interesting question for me to ponder and may lead to more changes.)
• I had a delightfully animated goldfish for years—until he leap to his death one day. Since then, without conscious connection to the goldfish, I played with the idea of painting my front door red. I read that according to feng shui, the ancient art of “placement,” a goldfish or a red door invites prosperity Wouldn’t that be nice?
• Ever since I can remember, my shelves have served as little altars where I place icons like the lava rock from my hike to the top of Black Crater or mosaic pieces picked up along the Apian ‘Way near Caesarea. Recently I learned that rocks and stones are elemental symbols of Saint Patrick’s Celtic Christianity.

Artful interiors reflect your saga: your personal history, family tradition, and ethnic culture. The decorating choices you make usually are determined by what is happening in your life and what you want to happen. “A person’s home should be like a three-dimensional scrapbook,” says art gallery director Greg Guelda. When you allow your interiors to evolve, when you make even subtle changes in your living space as you do in your life, that re-creates what you will experience as well. questions are pertinent: Where did you travel this year? How were you influenced by the terrain and the customs? Will this be reflected in your home next year? What changes occurred in your family? How did you celebrate differently? What new traditions did you start? What books did you read and classes did you take? What new thoughts and ideas were generated by these? What kinds of objects, colors, and design will reflect this in your rooms? How will all these changes influence how you will live and what you will do differently in your life and family next year?

The mysteries always teach us to combine the holy with
the profane,” theologian Martin Buber said. That same insight is expressed in another way—doctrine without
jargon—by decorator Elsie de Wolfe. An attitude toward home interiors like Dc Wolfe’s enhances our sense of the holy to ground our busy, fragmented lives. When we incorporate visual elements in our home that spring from our desire to worship, we express spirituality in the raw stuff of life.
Your decor may be inspired by high-church environments that feature rich color, ornament, and embellishment. Or it may be inspired by minimalist congregations where neutral colors, sheer light from transparent windows, and plain furniture facilitate simplicity. It may be inspired by nature, particularly the celestial realm as filtered through the heritage ofJudeo-Christian tradition: stars, sun, clouds.
However you combine the sacred with the ordinary will keep the flame burning on the hearth of your dream home.
“Color is the first thing we respond to when entering a room, the most powerful decorating tool, because it affects how we feel,” according to designer Gail Mayhugh.’
Marketing analysts claim also that color is a tool of communication. Since color can actually shape mood and biological responses, it greatly affects the sacred possibilities in our homes. Much like scent, memories are attached to different colors; individual color preferences are often based on our own experience of emotions associated with places or events.2
In the twenty-first century, consumers seek healing colors— colors that create soulful feelings, even down to the rejuvenating hues chosen for bath towels. For the new millennium, the Color Marketing Group predicted earth tones and shades of water and sky would predominate in response to consumers’ interest in spiritual things. At its dawn, true red, the color of religious iconography, was most popular, possibly in connection with the anniversary of Christ’s birth celebrated around the globe. Deeper reds, burnt reds, and bluish reds came soon after, symbols of connection to regal heritage as children of God and to the creation. Purples and blues were popular as soothing colors. They make visible transcendence, cleansing, and clarity. The light we love in white brings a tie to purity and emotional comfort. Subtle browns make their way into the earthy palette with names like “biscotti” and “mocha,” inspired by the popularity of coffeehouse hot spots—substituting for some the fellowship previous generations found in church.

ere is nothing more whole than a broken heart,’ an anonymous Jewish rabbi is often quoted. We miss that truth too often.We
fail to see meaning in the flawed things.We are not conscious of the power in an image of brokenness. Putting wildflowers in a favorite vase that is cracked or stained values what has been meaningful in the past. Mending a torn seam carries the value of that piece of clothing into the future.
Our lives are full of flawed objects, so why not appreciate the place they have in our lives and the lessons they have to teach?
A German cream pitcher a gift from my grandmother was broken when the wind blew it off its window perch. A string of amber stones broke when it was caught on a screw as I lifted it from my jewelry box. My heart has been broken by someone who didn’t value my love. My red jacket, the one I wear daily to fetch the wood that heats my home. has a broken zipper My favorite CD broke when it fell out of my car and was stepped on. I broke a big jar of freshly made strawberry jam as I was putting it into the refrigerator
Some of these things required that I cut the losses and throw them away. Others I salvaged and still use because I appreciate their ongoing value or the sentiment attached to them.
Does your home harbor broken things? Confront the facts. Know when to toss the keepsakes and still preserve the memories. Know when to realize there is nothing more beautiful than a particular object that has been scarred by time and use and love. Give yourself permission to make a decision about the broken things in your home and in your life.
• Save love letters from relationships that, though broken, still brought you gifts ofiSoul. (Discard those from the jerks in your life.)
Repair objects that were inherited or given by a special person or on a special occasion. They are symbols of life’s beautiful
imperfect things: our bodies, our ambitions, our dreams.
Replace anything that would cost more in time or money than it is worth to you.
Validate the significance of objects to which your soul responds:
A bird with a broken wing may be buried with ceremony.
The dress you wore to that special dance may be made into glamorous pillows for your bed.Your grandfather’s worn- out clock may be placed on a shelf as a token of what his presence meant in your life.
Declutter spaces by untangling what you want to keep from what has no place ofi poignancy in your environment. Throw away the non keepers with grace and gusto.
Box up (labeled) anything that has some practical or sentimental value. In one year if you have not dug it out to use it or have not thought about it at all, let it go.

My recurring nightmares often involve houses, usually temporary lodging in foreign countries and strange landscapes. Almost always I am lost, alone, and late—for a taxi, a bus, or an airplane. Attempting to leave some place where I’m staying, I’m mired down in packing too much stuff into too few suitcases. Having traveled a lot and moved many times, I am tempted to see these bad dreams as my soul wrestling with its baggage. Or perhaps I fear deep down that I’m going to be too late to show up for my own life. Working with these themes, my dream-group friends challenged me to actually change the dreams. They said no one should have to lug around that much stuff1 Starting with my closets, I’ve begun to lighten the load in a concrete way. I cast off whatever has had its day. Surprisingly, the dreams have begun to dissipate.
All but one, that is—a daydream. A recurring daydream of mine is to build on to my house a prayer turret that rises above the rooffine. Through a circle of windows, I want to look upon treetops toward the mountains while spending time with God. Looking deeper, I’ve wondered, What might I learn from this dream?
Research informs me that commonly a castle or turret image indicates a longing for security. It may signify that the strength of my own defenses is isolating me from others. Both these ideas fit, and I’m looking to change. Worn excuses—I don’t have enough money, education, or the right kind of personality to accomplish my dreams—are no longer viable. I reach out to other people and stand on the promises of El Shaddai, the Provider. This dream is a big improvement over one I had years ago of hiding under my desk to get away from a houseflil of noisy, demanding teenagers.
I’m climbing higher and expecting more. The shining shoes are taking me somewhere I’ve never dreamed of going.
What about your dream home?
You are creating it from the stuff you own about yourself— what you allow to surface in your consciousness. Dream homes are built from the brick of what you accept, tolerate, and concede to. They are built of the stuff you celebrate and the stuff you fear. They are built of what you honor and of all the reasons you party! Each of us is summoned to build and inhabit our dream home, God’s design for, and calling upon, our lives.
“In My Father’s house are many mansions,” Jesus said.7
Why wouldn’t he involve us in the joy of helping to build them, starting right here on earth? Brick by brick we shape God’s flamboyant vision of the kingdom. We spread the mortar stone upon precious stone—jasper, sapphire, emerald, topaz, amethyst—studded with pearls.8 Now that is a dream house!

Scientists say people who are deprived of REM sleep—when dreams are more visual in content—are prone to irritability, fatigue, memory loss, and poor concentration. Clearly, the Creator has beautifully designed our unconscious. It is meant not to torment us with bizarre visions or leave us vulnerable but to give us a way to work toward a healthier waking life. Dream time helps us recognize important truths about ourselves and our surroundings. They cooperate with our “day” dreams as raw material with which to improve our lives. We are dreaming all the time, Carl Jung believed. Only the distractions of waking life leave us unaware of that fact, he noted.6
Like a house, my life has several levels (or stories) and many rooms divided into public and private spaces. As I bring significance from night dreams or private spaces into my waking life or public places, I remodel my dream home on an ongoing basis. After that first haunted house dream, I began to invest my dreams with regard, recording them first thing in the morning. I let them simmer on the back burner of my mind, hoping eventually to read between the lines of their strange pictures. One thing that facilitated this was sharing dreams on a regular basis with two friends. We not oniy laughed a lot but also found that when you share dreams, you can’t hide anything from one another. We began to see important truths in each other’s dreams that escaped the dreamer’s own perception. The most eccentric dream could turn out to be the most insightful.
When I have an utterly ridiculous dream, an erotic dream, or a dangerous dream, I’m tempted not to document it. Through the years, however, I’ve discovered that the dreams that intimidate me most are the most useful—that is, if I’m willing to explore their territory and understand the questions they ask of me.