I am sitting within the cool, softly lit and quiet interior of my home. The only sound I hear is the whir of a fan our daughter gave to us a long time ago when our a.c. unit went out. She ordered two of them and had them delivered out of concern for our welfare. By the time they were dropped off at our front door step, our a.c. was back up and running. We offered to send them back to her, but she declined saying it is always good to have them as a back up. So now, each time we plug one in, it is reminder to both of us of her caring and love for us. I like this excuse to think of her. It makes my heart swell.
I love silence. I love wandering around within our home and private courtyard, coffee cup in hand, in a set of old pajamas! It is here where I cherish the freedom of being absolutely, completely and most genuinely myself. I am grateful to my Creator to have placed me in this time and this place. As I have aged I have come to really like this old girl. I am the only person on this planet who knows her as well as I do and I love her because I know her heart. It is a very good and loving heart. The Holy Spirit has done a very good job with her as the two have cohabited in this body all these years. In the whole of my life, I have always been happiest when in solitude. Yet, I am not anti-social…not at all! I love being with people one on one or maybe in a small gathering where one can share thoughts and hearts and ideals in the quest for enlightenment and sometimes just for the merriment. But it is when I am alone where I love hanging out and reacquainting myself with ME!
Years ago when we were overwhelmed with activities thrust upon our life, my husband said, “Sometimes I think the definition of the Devil is “busy.” “If he keeps us busy enough we won’t have time to reflect and feel gratitude for all things good in our life.” He is right, of course, because It is only when one sits in quiet and reflection where one can truly realize and appreciate and feel gratitude for the many blessings we already have.
I love our home. Actually, I have always loved all our homes. They wouldn’t be regarded as anything particularly special to someone else, but our homes are very special to us because this is where we hang our hat and nurture our hearts. Our home is our sanctuary from the busyness of our modern world. It is here where I surround myself with the people and things I love.
If you like blue and I like red, who is right?
We are BOTH right. It is called personal preference. These days, marketing people love to have us believe that our homes and cars and clothes are not “in” anymore. Out with the old and in with the new. It is the way the industry makes money off of us. The trouble with this theory is that we are all so individually and uniquely created, it is not possible for us all to like the same thing. Yet, year after year, in the spirit of encouraging the public to continue to spend their money, new products are introduced and suddenly the things we love are not considered acceptable. Few people entertain in their homes anymore for fear of comparisons which is unfortunate because I remember the days of early marriage when we and all our friends were poor and just plain happy to even have a house. We would have our friends in and they would invite us back. I don’t remember even paying much attention to their houses in those years because they were all modestly appointed and we all lived similarity. As the years went by, somewhere along the way homes went from being “homes” to being “showplace” houses. Houses kept getting bigger and more ornate. A lot of them didn’t feel much like a home anymore because they were so perfectly and “correctly” done by a decorator.
These are the types of things that run through my mind when I am alone. I see the things surrounding me and I am reminded of the person who gave it to me, or I remember where I was when I bought it. A lifetime of memories collect in a home if you let them.
I sometimes fantasize that I am an old soul. I love having my surroundings reflect a time long gone, a time when my Grandmother was a young wife. The old days. I doubt my house would fill the bill for the latest and greatest. In fact I know it wouldn’t. I have petite point pillows, a woven table topper, and I even a rectangular crocheted piece on my only table, which makes me feel close to Esther, my maternal Grandmother, who I can still see in my minds eye looping thread into and around her finger with a metal crochet hook. My house feels like an old friend to me, a friend with whom I can kick back in where we share our mutual memories. We have both seen a lot and have experienced a lot within these walls. We are both a bit worse for the wear, a bit frayed about the edges, but this is just proof that we have lived long and have been loved hard.
O.k. Coffee cup is now in the sink and it is time for a shower. The day is heating up outside and I don’t care because my sweet little home offers me relief from all of that summer heat. So does my gifted fan. I think I will go make my old iron bed and go find that book I have been wanting to read.
“Today is the day which the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it.”
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