Sitting cross-legged in a wide, green yard, grass tickling my bare feet, a deep azure sky overhead, soft waning sunshine filtering through the leafy bower above me onto my upturned face, a sweet Indian summer breeze swirling my long strands of hair across my cheeks….in that moment, in that place, I am free…I am at peace…I am content. I am glad to be alive. All cares, all worries, all pain…they no longer exist. I am simply intoxicated with the beauty all around me, forgetful of my very self, forgetful of everything but the wonder of life and the simple joys to be imbibed, like a sweet draught of wine, if I only slow down, look around me, and drink.
While most of the rest of my family is enjoying a relaxing family vacation at the beach, I have stayed behind to keep up with my studies, and while doing so, I’ve been spending a few days at my parents’ beautiful home in the country, minding the dog and the house and picking up the mail and newspaper. Although I’ve stayed pretty busy with school and work obligations, I’ve made sure to take advantage of the peace and beauty all around me, letting it calm and soothe what has been my very frazzled and stressed mind of late.
My parents live in a gorgeous log home, situated on about 15 mostly-wooded acres, at the end of a half-mile gravel lane. I lived in this home briefly soon after they built it, about thirteen years ago, and from 2005 to 2010 I lived next-door to them with my brother, who built his own log home on the same piece of land. We jokingly call this acreage, with the two log homes, isolated from other neighbors and the major roads, our “family compound.” Not only because many siblings (of which I have seven), seemingly have lived together and close to our parents either in my parents’ house or my brother’s house for most of the last thirteen years, but because the land on which these two houses are situated is adjacent to the property and house where we all spent most of our childhood. So, essentially, we have all lived a great portion of our lives in the same area.
Up until about two years ago, the house I spent most of my childhood in was occupied by renters, but since the last renter moved away, it has sat vacant, and every time I drive by it, on the gravel lane that leads to the log homes, an ache and sadness over its forlorn state fills my heart. Someone is apparently keeping the front lawn mowed ever so often, but grass is beginning to take over a section of the driveway, and the grass in the small pasture has been neglected and has grown to tremendous heights. More and more often, whenever I get the chance as I’m visiting my parents’ home, I make a stop at my old childhood home, somehow lured to its decrepit beauty and the tantalizing, nostalgic memories that lurk in its familiar nooks and crannies.
Today was no exception, and as I walked down the gravel lane to check the mail, on a gorgeous, blue-skied, sun-drenched late afternoon, I decided to detour for a bit at the vacant house. Something just wells up inside me when I walk down its drive, amble over the front, slated sidewalk, and gaze around at what “once was.” I see myself as a little girl again, running through that big front yard, catching lightning bugs on a warm, summer’s eve…or raking huge piles of leaves on a crisp, smoky fall afternoon…or playing hide-and-go-seek with my siblings…or sitting on my room’s window-sill, imagining and writing stories…or pretending to be cowboys and Indians with my siblings, chasing each other on paths through the acres of woods surrounding the house…or taking my own long, exploratory rambles in the woods, as I often did. Despite all the pain I endured as a child–physically and emotionally–I do have many, many happy memories from my childhood as well. And when I visit my childhood home, it is the happy memories that haunt me the most, reminding me of the joy and innocence I once knew and wish so much I could return to.
After walking around the house a bit, observing the scraggly, unkempt bushes, the myriads of spider-webs adorning the eaves, the weeds poking through the sidewalk cracks, and the dark, deserted outbuildings, all the while thinking how literally haunted and spooky this house would seem come Halloween, I finally sauntered into the big front yard, found a nice, sunny patch of grass, and plopped down. And there I sat, for quite some time, soaking in the sad, haunting, and yet peaceful beauty all around me. Soaking, drinking, immersing…all would be good verbs to describe my primary response as I sat there. But I also reflected quite a bit…and prayed. And wondered why my life couldn’t always feel as peaceful and complete as it felt in those moments. Why have I allowed my life to become what it has? And why couldn’t I go back and retrieve a bit of that little girl I’ve left far, far behind? The little girl who saw the world with eyes of innocent wonder and a vivid imagination? She must be still lurking inside me somewhere, and perhaps just waiting to come alive again.
The truth is, I think she is. And the more I visit my old, childhood home, and wrestle with my past and all my inner demons, the more convinced I am that there is a tiny seed of a story slowly growing in my heart and mind, just waiting for the right time to come forth. It wants to come out, it wants to come alive, but it simply needs time. Time to allow for my present wrestling, time to allow the adult me to heal, time to allow God to do whatever He needs to do. And in the meantime, I need to make it more of a priority to simply take stock, every moment I get, of the simple joys God has placed in my life. I want to have more moments of sitting barefoot in grass, gazing at a blue sky, feeling breezes tickle my face, marveling at what it means to simply be alive, and the recipient of God’s abundant beauty made manifest in His creation. To find, as I did when a little girl, joy in even the simplest things.
It was with great reluctance I got up from my peaceful reverie at my old home, and left it behind, but the voices it stirred within me have not left. Nor has the feeling of God’s nearness. Somehow, He seems far more present to me in nature’s cathedral than He ever does in a church. And I wish I could carry that sense of peace and nearness with me no matter where I am.
Maybe I can. Maybe that was the point of today.
“Lo, I am with you always….”