On Losing Place

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I begrudge my little dog at 5AM because she needs a walk, and it feels like I just went to bed an hour ago. Most of the time, Seth takes her, but this morning, I woke at a lovely 3:45, too excited to drink coffee perhaps, so here I am in my pajamas in the middle of the night where I can hear the leaves touch, whispers of autumn.

The canopy above our house is thick, so it’s easy to feel huddled in the dark, but walking beyond our yard with the leash, I actually stand in a gasp at the sky, just as clear and wide open as can be. It took lightyears for these stars to reach my view. My mind’s morning routine is, first thing, Lord’s Prayer, and I’ve learned to stretch that thing way out; all I can do this morning is Hallowed

                                                                                                                                    Hallowed

                                                                                                                                                            Hallowed.

The breeze edges on cold, and my legs are bare. I am exposed, aware of Eden within, God with me.

Inside, the coffee drips, and it’s an old house, so it smells a little like a granny kitchen with my basil cleaners and wall plug-ins floating on top. I love the way the blanket lays on the couch, how the throw pillow is caddy wompus, and even the basket full of papers feels right. Backpacks in a row under the window, the little dog-food bowls, all my books and dishes displayed on open shelves: we couldn’t have made up anything better than this when we were looking for a house.

We’re finding groove for the first time in maybe a year and a half. Now that we have it, I tense up like I have reigns in my hands. I told Seth, again, last night. I don’t want to move from here. I hope we never have to pack. It’s funny because our rental agreement lasts for 11 more months, and what goofball starts worrying that far in advance?

The stars tell me what I already know. Kingdom comes. And it is big. And I have a part to play, or I wouldn’t be here.

Sometimes I wonder if I really trust Him or not, what with how I grip the reigns. I worry that I won’t trust Him when the time comes. But I know whom I have believed, and I am convinced that he is able to guard until that Day what has been entrusted to me: my short time, the gifts, all the many kids. I have believed, and he will guard. That’s the deal, I suppose.

I like to look at things up close, how Isaac takes a rock and notes the divets and swirls. I think of telescope the same as a microscope, and I imagine what I am, as if there’s a petri dish here in the milky way. I am a speck, and even that hardly describes how small. How do I get to be a part?

I imagine the perspective, way out at the very edge where Voyager 1 has taken its 36 year journey into the magnetic highway. It’s now at the cusp of our solar system. How spectacular to be eyes at the end of that scope. Years before now, it turned back for a single snapshot of the earth, a tiny blue dot, a speck of a pixel in a great brown streak, less than a fish-tank rock in the ocean.

The God of human life and of light and space, matter and time, I wonder of Him, that he made dew and sex and secret species of orchids. His DNA is code on my heart. Why? These are the things that make people stare crazy holes into walls.

But then Titus walks in with his daddy’s eyes there, the wavy hair, saggy morning diaper and biggest smile, and he runs to me and pulls a blanket into our chests. Everything was serious, but then the morning laugh. We snuggle tight. His nose touches into mine, and there a kiss.

I feel it for a fact that we are small and precious things in his sight. His very children. I won’t be afraid to lose my place. I may as well not. Kingdom come.

 photo by Damien Stenson

Let’s do our chatting over on Facebook, if you have a skinny minute! Is the fear of losing place or of not having home something familiar to you, too?

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