We only have an hour.
Walking single file down the broken sidewalk, we look for the familiar house with gift bags swinging over our arms, our breath swirling in clouds above our heads in the twilight.
“Is this the one,” H asks pointing to the white two-story with dark blue shutters.
I lean across the ivy clad picket fence peering sideways through the glass door, hoping for a glimpse of familiarity inside. Just in case we picked the wrong house.
“Yes, this is it,” he decides, “see the historical marker and they’re right there inside.”
I’m a curious traveler looking for home, mesmerized by the ambient light of community coming from the end of the narrow hallway. Unaware that they’re walking to the door to welcome us.
Five summers ago our families lay virgin eyes on Africa together. Sharing bumpy car rides over potholes, wiping dust from our sweaty brows, navigating our collective five through culture shock, cold showers and crabbiness. Mystified by how a country torn by brokenness can be a lesson on hope. And we called it that – Homes of Hope – the fund raising effort we cultivated together for five years helping eighty Rwandan orphans after that mission trip.
We all grew a bit taller in our perspective.
I shed my coat; drape it over a chair in the hall, the scent of rosemary and olive oil enticing me to see what’s brewing in the kitchen. We swirl the smell of communion in stemmed glass; taste resurrection in the children we bore; laugh over events and the passage of time. Scoop handfuls of roasted nuts and swallow change congregating around the family bar.
Listen to their stories. Of rescued puppies, a new grandson crawling on the floor and their three girls grown into women walking through the front door. And it makes me gasp. The way God grows each of us into what He beheld when we took our first breath.
How a stray heart can be rescued in the warmth of people who know and accept you for who you are.
It only takes an hour, before celebrating your daughter’s seventeenth, for the evensong of community to break bread in belonging. And discover that everything and nothing stays the same.
Linking with Jennifer for Tell His Story and Emily for Imperfect Prose.
Shelly your story telling gift gets richer and richer. This is a beautiful tribute to friendship. There is such a tender tension between change and permanence. You write of it so eloquently here. Bitter sweet, it is. And life seems to move faster, daily. A mystery. Savoring is my word of the heart. Shall we savor together? Love your words here and always.
Thank you for the kind affirmation Elizabeth. I love the way you said that, the tension between change and permanence. So true. Love you my friend.
Only an hour for friendship – and yet it is enough.
Thank you for your eloquent post. I sometimes feel I have no time to really visit with people but now I see an hour can work and that I shouldn’t put fellowship off just because i don’t have a whole afternoon.
Oh Jerri, your comment makes my heart sing. That is exactly the take away I was hoping for you. You got it!
Gorgeous reflection, Shelly. It’s amazing how those glimpses of true community can bolster our spirit.
Well, you know I get that after our conversation online. I couldn’t believe how invigorated I felt after one hour. It’s like I found my true self again. It was a gift.
This: “We swirl the smell of communion in stemmed glass; taste resurrection in the children we bore; laugh over events and the passage of time. Scoop handfuls of roasted nuts and swallow change congregating around the family bar.”
So beautiful.
Thank you, that means a lot coming from such a word weaver yourself Jennifer. Appreciate the tweet love too.
“. . . for the evensong of community to break bread in belonging. And discover that everything and nothing stays the same.”
love the nostalgia and mystery that meet in this line. gorgeous, Shelly.
God is good to give me those words and imagery. I’ve said for years, before I even started writing, that I wish I could hook up a video inside my head so I could share all the stuff I see, the beauty God gives me.
It makes me gasp, too. “The way God grows each of us into what He beheld when we took our first breath.” Those words gave me pause and generated two questions: What did God behold when I drew my first breath? Am I living up to his plan and purpose for me? The answer comes from Philippians 1:6, which Eugene Peterson renders so well: “There has never been the slightest doubt in my mind that the God who started this great work in you would keep at it and bring it to a flourishing finish on the very day Christ Jesus appears” (The Message). Humbling, yet offering a strong boost of confidence. He is indeed growing me into what he beheld at my birth. Hallelujah!
What encouragement you’ve brought here with you comment Nancy. I’m so honored you shared this. It fills me up in so many ways. I hope it speaks to others too.
You have ministered to me numerous times, Shelly. It brings tears to my eyes to think that these words, surely whispered to me by the Spirit, ministered to YOU. Praise God!
Shelly, I could get lost in the rhythm of your words. “…it makes me gasp. The way God grows each of us into what He beheld when we took our first breath.
How a stray heart can be rescued in the warmth of people who know and accept you for who you are.”
Would that we would all be able to make even strangers feel that sense of HOME.
Thank you for this,
Peace and good to you
That is exactly the way I feel too. It’s my prayer when people spend time in my home. And out of it too.
All this in a hour–all these words and images to hold in my heart for days. So grateful to be walking in community with you.
I know Sandy, that hour was such a gift to me. I was feeling a bit like a stray and then I found myself again through remembering what being known feels like.
Beautiful story, Shelly. I could see the picket fence thick with ivy, you laying your coat on the chair, meandering through the hallway to the kitchen, chin lifted, looking for the source of of all good aromas. Love coming here.
Love having you here Nacole, you are a gift.
“We all grew a bit taller in our perspective.” It’s these stories that stir and excite me… the ones where we grow a bit taller in our perspective. You have an amazingly beautiful voice, every time I come here.
Amber, thank you for your kindness. Do you blog as well? Would love to find you on the web, that is one thing I don’t like about this commenting system, I can’t find people.
Lovely. Your words make me long for that kind of fellowship.
It’s a window for me Elizabeth, something I don’t experience very often unfortunately. So oddly, I would agree, I long for that kind of fellowship too.
Beautiful – especially “How a stray heart can be rescued in the warmth of people who know and accept you for who you are” – beautiful communion:)
Thank you!
such beautiful fellowship is written here. what a blessing you have been to my heart today.
visiting from dear emily’s place today.
http://dramaticelegance.blogspot.com
Glad you made a visit, that the words translated into something beautiful which is an act of pure grace. Thank you.
sigh. i could read your words all day long. 🙂
Well, thank you. Your words are quite a gift Emily.