I sit this morning with a perfect – well, almost perfect anyway – view of the sunrise.
Unfortunately, I don’t have the skills or the camera that will allow me to capture the depth and fullness of what I see … the subtle beauty of this morning awakening to the rising light as my eyes and my thoughts capture the scene through the window in my front door. And then the old, wood-framed panes of the front porch, the out-of-square storm door that has opened and closed thousands upon thousands of times over the past eighteen and a half years ~ letting the dogs out, bringing them back in, each of us running out that door innumerable times to capture that perfect sunrise, that perfect sunset reflection on THE mountain, rainbows – sometimes double and triple bows, the full moon rising over the outline of the Cascades, the cows and their antics in the field across the road, giant snowdrifts – and on a few occasions the comedy of cars, trucks, snowplows, and even tow trucks lined up in a massive jumble all stuck in the drifts of snow right in front of our house.
We have run through these doors to go out and play, to work in the garden, to stand in awe of the handiwork of God, to check on drivers who missed the curve and crashed into the ditch or have flown over the ditch and landed in the pasture, tangled in the electric fence that keeps the cows where they belong.
On just a few occasions a child has stormed out those doors, bags packed, intent on escaping the tyranny of siblings, a half-crazed, exhausted mother, unwanted chores, or simply drawn to the lure of the road and the certainty that the grass is greener on the other side of The Guide or in a friend’s home.
This home, my center of my family’s world for the since Thanksgiving Day 1996, now belongs to one of my sons. I’m on hold, waiting for my next step.
I can see the few items that hang on the east wall of the living room, although my camera cannot capture both the sunrise through the doors and the inside of the house. But I can see it all, call to remembrance the significance of each item.
There’s the miniature old-fashioned screen door offering a simple “WELCOME” and the blessing “Friends Gather Here” which was given to me by a dear friend long years ago. There’s an old wooden Coca-Cola crate, reminiscent of my birthplace, having traveled the 3,000 miles across country with us when we moved here.
And then, there’s the off-kilter (on purpose, just in case you’re wondering) sign given to me just a few years ago by my eldest daughter and son-in-love which reads, “Welcome to the Funny Farm. We may not have it all together, but together we have it all.” One of the most PERFECT gifts I’ve ever received!
And lastly, there’s the most recent additions, thanks to the techi-ness of my oldest son (not the one who bought the house) ~ a piece of graph paper with the “media room” design drawn out in perfect detail on one side of the door and one of the speakers that provide the surround sound to this ancient, memory-filled space on the other.
Our home in all its quirkiness.
The more I think about, dream about, and hope for the day of my release from captivity 😉 the more nostalgic I become ~ realizing I truly do want to end my days of living in this space well ~ truly well ~ full of remembering and gratitude and marking our triumphs and properly grieving our losses.
I am beginning to understand how much I need to be fully alive living into these days of major transition. Being present HERE, not distracted by the not-here; trusting that at the right time, precisely when all things are ready, the doors will open and I will launch out into the next chapter of my life with no regrets, able to be fully present, treasuring the memories created and loved NOW!
And… it is enough ~ truly DAYENU!!!