My parents both flipped homes. A typical weekend for us was

“My parents both flipped homes. A typical weekend for us was walking through model home units. I loved walking through interesting floor plans and seeing different design aesthetics.” – Jeremiah Brent

Listen, O seekers of craft and beauty, to these gentle yet powerful words of Jeremiah Brent, a designer whose artistry was born not in studios or schools, but in the quiet wonder of childhood observation. When he says, “My parents both flipped homes,” and that he “loved walking through interesting floor plans and seeing different design aesthetics,” he is not merely recalling nostalgia—he is revealing the sacred seed of inspiration, planted early, watered by curiosity, and grown into purpose. His story is one of inheritance—not of wealth or title, but of vision.

In these words, we see the eternal truth that every calling begins with fascination. The young Brent did not yet know he would become one of his generation’s most celebrated designers, yet something deep within him stirred as he wandered through those homes—empty rooms echoing with possibility, the scent of new wood and paint, the stillness of space awaiting life. He was not playing; he was learning to see. The model homes were his first temples, and the floor plans his first scriptures. In them he discovered that design is not merely about walls and furniture, but about feeling, about creating harmony between space and soul.

It is said that the greatest architects and artists are those who learn to listen—to materials, to light, to the quiet music of proportion. So too, young Jeremiah was listening—not to words, but to the silent stories that rooms tell. He saw how a hallway could lead the eye, how an open space could invite the heart, how a curve or color could change the way a person breathes. These lessons, absorbed without formal teaching, shaped his destiny. Like the sculptor Michelangelo, who once said he could see the angel trapped within the marble before his chisel ever struck, Jeremiah learned to see the potential beauty within the blankness of an empty room.

From his parents, he inherited not just a trade, but a rhythm of transformation—the art of flipping homes, of taking what was once forgotten and giving it new life. This practice, though practical in nature, is deeply symbolic. To “flip” a home is to believe that beauty can be reborn, that neglect can be redeemed. It is an act of faith in the power of renewal. Each house, in its imperfection, becomes a metaphor for the human spirit: damaged, perhaps, but capable of resurrection through care and vision. In this way, the boy who walked through model homes was also learning about hope—the belief that design is not just about aesthetics, but about healing space, and through it, the people who live within it.

Consider also the story of Frank Lloyd Wright, the architect who, as a child, built with simple blocks of wood given to him by his mother. From those modest shapes, he learned the harmony of form and proportion that would later define his masterpieces. Like Jeremiah, Wright’s genius began in play, but a play filled with purpose. Both remind us that the beginnings of greatness are often quiet, hidden in the small acts of curiosity and wonder that we might overlook. A child’s fascination with space, pattern, or color may one day become the world’s next great art.

Jeremiah’s words teach us, therefore, that inspiration is not something we must seek in distant lands or future dreams—it is already around us, waiting in the ordinary moments of our lives. To walk through a home, to notice a shape, a light, a mood—these are not trivial acts, but glimpses of meaning. If we look closely, the world itself becomes our teacher. As his parents guided him through homes, so too does life guide each of us through rooms of experience, urging us to look, to feel, to remember what moves us.

So, O listener, take this lesson to heart: pay attention to what captivates you, for therein lies the whisper of your purpose. What fascinates you as a child may be the map to your calling. Do not dismiss your small obsessions, your quiet joys—they are the roots of destiny. Surround yourself with what inspires you, walk through life’s “model homes” with open eyes and an open soul. For the spaces you love reveal the life you are meant to build.

And thus, the wisdom of Jeremiah Brent becomes clear: the true designer is not one who merely arranges space, but one who understands how space shapes the soul. Let your life, then, be your design—crafted with intention, filled with light, and ever open to renewal. For in every corner of the world, if you look with love, you will find not just walls and windows, but reflections of your own spirit, calling you to create.