It’s November 1—the end of Daylight Saving Time and the start of homebody season. Even if life and our responsibilities don’t allow us to hibernate, the darker evenings and the (slowly) cooling temperatures draw us homeward. “An invitation to linger longer,” reads a magazine on my coffee table—yes, that’s the invitation this season seems to deliver each year.
Perhaps, though, that pull toward home meets with some resistance. When I sit at home, my eye strays to worn furniture and white walls that I long to paint in deep, rich hues. The quiet of my little apartment is almost always interrupted by the sound of my neighbors’ footsteps above (do they ever sit still?).
Home—the place to which I long to retreat in this season—is often a battlefield for my heart. It’s the site of a struggle between grumbling and delight. The grumbling is born from discontentment and the idealization of a future home; delight, by contrast, springs from gratitude and a settled faith in God’s good provision here and now.
Recently, I felt a kindling of delight as I flipped through a design book and stumbled on the following sidebar. The authors highlight a favorite design feature found in British homes: the snug.
“Often found off the kitchen, the snug is a comfortable, warm, and frequently small space where you can spend time reading a book, watching a movie, or even taking a nap…. The difference between a snug in Great Britain and a family room in the United States is the noticeably smaller size and cozier atmosphere of a snug…. You don’t need much—just comfortable furniture, a table to rest your cup of tea or coffee on, and a good book!”1
I look around my home and think, check, check, and check. Each room of this apartment is just off the kitchen; as I write, the lemon-garlicky scent of my lunch fills the whole space. There are books scattered on every available surface—an answer to a prayer I once prayed for a space with books in every room. The furniture is worn, yes, but I feel a quiet pleasure every time a friend kicks off her shoes and sits in my tattered armchairs, with her feet tucked under her. My friends are comfortable in this space, in a way that mirrors my own comfort.
“All I have needed thy hand hath provided…” along with so much more. If I have eyes to see it, the Lord has provided in this little home exactly what I crave. This little apartment is The Snug.
The act of naming this space feels sacred, somehow. In his book, The God of the Garden, Andrew Peterson muses, “Could it be that by naming something, by making it particular, we’re making it holy?” He continues, “Calling someone (or something) by name does more than ascribe affection or underscore belonging—it also adds to the story of creation, places them (or it) squarely in the grand narrative of time.”2 Naming this place—The Snug—gives dimension to the boundaries of the dwelling place that the Lord of heaven and earth has determined… for me.
So I’m sending this—my first letter from The Snug. It’s an invitation into the warmth and welcome of this cozy space. Linger longer, won’t you? It’s also an offering of thanksgiving for the good gifts the Father gives, even in small spaces and dark hours.
Reading Lately
For those with mixed emotions around the end of Daylight Saving Time, here are a couple of articles I’ve enjoyed:
Now is the Best Time to Begin Reading the Bible in the Morning by Glenna Marshall. Glenna republishes this article every year; it’s an annual reminder that the dark evenings are offset by earlier mornings. Why not redeem the extra hour by spending it in God’s word?
How to Make 4:30pm Darkness Feel Cozy, Not Depressing by Open House. I’ve seen this linked in several places, and it speaks to the dread many people feel as winter approaches. My first takeaway from this article: moving a small lamp into my kitchen to make dinner prep a little cozier.
The God of the Garden: Thoughts on Creation, Culture, and the Kingdom by Andrew Peterson. I listened to this audiobook on long drives, but I also own a hard copy and plan to reread it more slowly and thoughtfully. I think Peterson would appreciate the snug; he sings the praises of English footpaths, much as the authors above do the snug.
The Patron Saint of Second Chances by Christine Simon. My fiction reading has slowed dramatically, but I devoured this book in a single afternoon. Laugh-out-loud funny; I’m hoping for more from this author.
Enjoying Lately
This copycat recipe for Mendocino Farms’ seasonal goat cheese salad has been added to my regular rotation. The dressing is made from pantry staples and is absolutely delicious—tangy and sweet.
Abide Embroidery Co. For the past couple of years, I’ve picked up embroidery in the fall and winter months—it’s my granny hobby of choice. Abide’s patterns are among my favorites, incorporating hymns and Scripture with beautiful patterns. If you’re new to embroidery, these detailed patterns walk you through the process, with stitch tutorials, instructions on transferring patterns, finishing a hoop, and much more.
Listening Lately
Make It Out Alive by The Arcadian Wild. The title track is my favorite; I can’t get past this line: “There’s a kind of hope in singing all the songs that make us cry.”
Sweet Little Drop in a Bucket by Johann Glidden. This artist is completely new to me, but the album has been playing on repeat this week. The storytelling in “No Good to be Alone” is breathtaking. Case in point: “In semi-circles of folding chairs / cigarettes and serenity prayers / holding hands and not too proud to know / that it’s just no good for a man to be alone.”
Your Turn
Is there a snug in your home? What cozy corner do you retreat to with a cup of coffee and a book?
Does your home have a name? If so, how did you give it its name?
Caitlin Flemming and Julie Goebel. Sense of Place: Design Inspired by Where We Live (New York: Abrams, 2023), 49.
Andrew Peterson. The God of the Garden: Thoughts on Creation, Culture, and the Kingdom (Nashville: B&H Publishing Group, 2021), 42.