I’m going to share a secret with you. I have always dreamt of living in an old church. Growing up, when I attended Sunday mass, I always thought of how beautiful the church was and how awesome it would be to live in it. I know a couple who were actually featured in the New York Times, who live in a converted church. It’s absolutely stunning, serene, and inviting. I shouldn’t covet. But I would love to have that house.

I would fill it with a grand library, and in the middle, I’d have my writing knook. Oh, to dream. To be able to write in such a space would be transformative. How so, I’m not quite sure. Would it encourage me to be more reflective in my writing. Or would it provide such a quiet, inviting space for which my mind could go wild? If only I could give it a try. To dream. Oh to dream.

Picture this: Sunday masses turned into daily musings, hymns replaced by the sweet symphony of creativity. It’s like divine real estate, and I’m ready to confess my covetous inclinations.

Back in the day, while attending Sunday mass, my mind wasn’t solely on salvation; it was fixated on the sheer splendor of the church itself. A thought dawned upon me—living in this majestic structure would be downright awesome. I mean, stained glass windows and high ceilings? Talk about heavenly real estate.

This couple who converted a church into a living space let me just note it’s not just stunning; it’s a serene slice of paradise. Cue the angelic choir.

Sure, I shouldn’t covet. The commandments say so. But can you blame a dreamer for envisioning a house with a divine touch? A home where every room is a chapel of creativity, and the confessional booth is now the brainstorming hub.

So here I am, caught in the struggle between earthly desires and heavenly architecture. I can’t help but imagine myself sipping coffee surrounded by the echoes of sermons past. It’s not just a house; it’s a haven of divine inspiration.

In conclusion, if anyone’s handing out keys to old churches, I’m ready to sign up for this sacred real estate adventure. Until then, I’ll be here, dreaming of stained glass dreams and hoping my divine dwellings make it to the New York Times someday. Amen to that, my fellow church dwellers in the realm of reverent daydreams!

I’m quite tired now and have only about three hours of sleep before me. Thus, it’s time to actually dream. And may it be good, deep dreams.