That House

When I was a kid, I lived in that house. You know the one. Mom bakes brownies. Buys chips and Kool-Aid. Kids congregate. Big basement. Ping pong. Sleepovers. Seemed like every kid in the neighborhood is over after school to empty the fridge. Football in the field next door.

That house.

When I had children of my own, I dreamed of being that house. The problem was we lived in the country. Still do. I decided we were too remote to be that house. After all, I grew up in a neighborhood. Isn't that one of the criteria? That, and your mom bakes brownies.

I don't bake brownies.

I made some pathetic attempts at being that house. I trucked kids in. I bought Oreos. I tried. But I found out being that house is something that isn't achieved. It just happens.

I gave up. Was it really that important anyway?

Then, something amazing happened.

My daughter decided to return to a school she transferred from two years ago. Now she's entering her last year of high school.

It took about five minutes for her group of old friends to welcome her back with open arms (and school hasn't even started). They are really great kids. Nice. Polite. Respectful.

The amazing thing that happened is we sort of became that house. Out of thin air. Poof. That house.

Sure, it isn't as extreme as the weekly, sometimes daily, that house events I had as a child, but is that really what I want as a parent? My mother I am not. (Remember the brownies?)

But it is enough of a that house to make me feel somehow gratified. Happy to have so many young people around. Happy to see youth living, laughing, having a good time in my basement. In my yard.

Kids over for play.

For movies.

Hanging out.

Bonfires.

It's fun when something you wanted to happen and gave up on long ago all of a sudden happens. It makes me smile. A gift.

It reminds me of so many gifts I've been given from my loving, Heavenly Father.

Given at the right time.
 
With God, I think He wants me to have all the that houses I long for. As long as they are good for me. And as long as they are not what I am centering my life on. My focus.

It seems some things are never given. Not good for me I suppose.

But some things are just withheld. Until the time is right. Like being that house.

I know now that God wants to give me good gifts, but not because I beg like a spoiled child, as if I won't be happy unless I get it. But because He loves me. And He wants me to love Him too. Love Him more than whatever it is I want.

Love Him more than having that house.

Having that job.

Having that relationship the way I want it.

Having that financial situation.

Having that result.

That bonus.

That relief.

That satisfaction.

That justice.

That happiness.

That thing.

That whatever.

Love Him more than all of the thats in the world.

And when I do, when I look to Him and want to know Him more than I want anything else, a funny thing happens. I forget about a lot of the thats. I forget.

But sometimes, I am reminded because I get a gift. A gift of something that I used to count as vitally important and gave up on. Removed from the center, where only Jesus belongs.

And my house becomes that house.

And the best part is, it was a surprise. Like all the best gifts are.

Things Wear Out

Another early misty morning sunrise over the trees. The dew is thick this a.m. and it's too wet to sit down on deck chairs. But my coffee is hot and the air is cool, so I stand and look. I love it out here. This view, this sunrise. It draws me in. I cannot tire of looking.

And the birds. They share the space of this budding day. Flutter, perching, pecking, sharing today. This thing that captures my attention never wears out for me.

But I look around and notice that there are things that do wear out. Some things wear out with time. This Adirondack chair. It has seen better days. Been repaired many times. And now worn out. Fit for a bonfire.

And this basil plant. It too has worn out. But not from time or use. It has worn out from neglect. I suppose it got tired of trying to live with nobody tending to its needs. Water, a larger pot. Pruning, perhaps. Whatever the needs, they were not met. Now, it also must be discarded. Time for the compost pile.


Things wear out.

It is this world. It is the way.

The way for things. And the way for people.

We wear out, too.

From time.

Aging is an inevitable part of life. Sure, some fight it. Some work pretty hard to retain youth. Others age gracefully, accepting. But it comes no matter how we feel about it. How we deal with it.

But we are not, should not, be like the chair. Cast aside and deemed no longer fit for use. Just because of wearing out from time.

Set aside to wait for death.

Never let it be said of people.

Is there anyone in my life I consider old and no longer useful?

If there is such a one and I have no time for him (or her), then it is the same. The same as with the chair. And all the excuses in the world about why I have cast them aside are empty. And just excuses.

And what of neglect?

Sadly, yes. There are those who are worn our from neglect.

Wilted from years of trying to fit in.

Dried up from neglect of friendships. Relationships that water. That feed. That make space for growth.

Tired of trying. Waiting. Wanting.

It is sad. Too sad, I think.

Are there those in my life I am neglecting?

Even just a little bit?

Nobody is ever fit for the compost pile.

Not people. Not us.

Things wear out. We deal with that.

But people? No. Never let it be said of us.

Dragonfly's Dance

Glide up, turn around

Drop, lift, spin down.

Float upon a gentle breeze

Dragonflies dance with ease.

No order step, no rhythm time

Fantastically, they don’t collide.

Turn again, about face

Primitive spin in empty space.

They float and drift and on and on

Aerial dance without a song.