I'm more sentimental than a reminiscent grandmother wringing out time with needle clicks on rocker runners. I'm not
exactly certain how I came to be this way, although I suspect it has
something to do with growing up
broken, and longing for the meaning,
depth, and belonging I never quite had as a child. I attach sentiment
to things, sadly to a fault, and almost each "thing" we possess has
STORY and significance.
To most, it would have been an old oak board, it's purpose all used up.
To me, one small gesture of love would be returned to me, through this board, a thousand-fold years later, and it's significance would cover one of my soul
wounds like salve. A "kiss" from GOD, because...
HE IS SO GOOD AT TAKING THINGS, SEEMINGLY ALL USED UP, AND SPEAKING HIS LOVE, HIS KNOWING, AND HIS HEART INTO THEM.
It was just a
HOUSE. A roof... some walls... But to this broken girl
trying to plant
ROOTS for her family, it was
HOME. Through the years, I
tricked myself into believing that I could actually plant those
roots, but truth is a sharp reality, sometimes. The
CHURCH-OWNED house was no more than a
castle on the beach waiting in false strength for a wave to come.
Grandchildren would never be able to return to their parents' childhood
home to climb the same maple trees, run in the same fields, decorate
cookies in the same kitchen, or "camp-in" in front of the same
fireplace. Reality. Sharp. This house would never be ours. We could not truly lay down roots. Rootless.
Six Christmases ago, my parents helped us remodel the broken down kitchen ceiling of the
CHURCH HOUSE. During the remodel, an oak board was removed from above the kitchen window to allow more light to filter into the room. The old board was tossed aside as garbage, but for some reason, I rescued it and hid it behind the washing machine. One short Christmas later, I wanted to give Ironman something he could treasure, a handmade gift of love. I found the purposeless oak board hidden away, and gave it
STORY. I painted the board red to spring it to life, and brushed across it the words
"I HOPE YOU DANCE." Not before six more Christmases would pass, would I fully realize the significance of this now treasured board.
As time moves forward...
SOMETIMES THINGS YOU WISH WOULD CHANGE... DON'T.
SOMETIMES THINGS YOU WISH WOULDN'T CHANGE... DO.
Caught in this "change" paradox, after more than a decade of hard ministry, GOD called us to move away for a season of rest.
BUT............
ROOTS! MY HEART ACHED... AND... SOMETIMES, MY HEART STILL ACHES. ROOTS! OUR FAMILY WAS BUILT IN A ROOTLESS HOUSE.
THE WAVE CRASHED THE CASTLE...
The castle... where newborn babies arrived at their very first home, halls paced to soothe tears and tummy aches, first steps learned, knees skinned, front teeth lost, wobbly two-wheelers mastered, maple trees climbed. Miles were swung on an old tire hung from limb and a red porch swing. S'mores and hotdogs cooked over the fireplace cozy, and overnight slumber parties, just us six, freezing in the wee hours because the fire died down. Stuffy noses, broken arms, broken hearts. A baby lost. Within the walls, a tangle of joy and grief, struggle and victory.
ALL IN A ROOTLESS HOUSE...
The castle... where we were enchanted under pink cherry blossom snows. My grandmother's Black-eyed Susans transplanted and adorned flowerbeds with stunning beauty. Mud pies, sprinkler runs, kiddie pools, toy tractor excavations, baby dolls strolled in buggies on breezy summer days, rain puddle dances wet and free. Critters found, tree frog songs, sweet juicy tomatoes, children's laughter from growing up in country wide. Chalk picture artwork from
CHURCH HOUSE to church. Fire red trees and calico piles of leaves raked and jumped, raked and jumped. Messages of love written in new snow on parking lot flat. Snowmen, snow angels, sleds. Memories that have no words. Pain and sacrifice. Faith and trust forged true. A
family grown. A family saved.
ALL IN A ROOTLESS HOUSE...
THEN IT HIT ME.
God whispered deep.
"Shanda, my girl, don't you know?
Remember the gift? The board?"
The painted oak gift board. From behind the washer
HE stirred my heart to make. A gift from the throw away board that came from the cookie
making kitchen where birthday parties were celebrated and Thanksgiving feasts cooked. First bites
of Gerber fruits were eaten, and children learned to crack eggs.
"I see your heart,
daughter. I knew this day would come, and in your gift, I gave you one in return."
A board? A
PIECE of the
ROOTLESS HOUSE. Mine. A reminder of how roots grow deep.
ROOTS GROW NOT INSIDE WALLS, BUT INSIDE HEARTS.
Our
HOME is with each other, and our
HOME is with
HIM. GOD is our
ROOT. Even so,
God cares deeply about this sentimental girl's heart. He knew that old board would be a blessing,
A PIECE ENOUGH. Not just a board, but a
ROOT from the
ROOTLESS HOUSE. From it, we will continue to build our
HOME.
Today, I found this note on the back of the board. "I love you. Be blessed! Your Abba wanted you to have this! Forever, My Love."
PIECE ENOUGH, INDEED... RETURNED A THOUSAND-FOLD...
Oh Daddy, Daddy! Thank you for the
GIFT. Thank you for the healing balm, the kiss. Thank you for reminding me how much you love me and care about my heart. It's not just a board! It's a root. I will plant it, and I will
MOST CERTAINLY DANCE!
********************
Inside the closet of her bedroom in the
CHURCH HOUSE, my daughter left a priceless note in permanent marker.
The note reads, "This is Kendall. I lived here for 10 years and 10 months. I'm 10 years of age, and I want someone to know I lived here. KG."
Someday, when she is old enough to understand about
ROOTS, and
HOME, and
HEARTS, and
GOD, and
DANCE... I will give her that old oak board to keep and to treasure... forever.
