A little corner of my world

Is your heart distracted by doing, by becoming something apart from your identity as a disciple of Christ? He is saying, "Choose Me. Let that thing go and choose me." It may look like "less" according to this world. It may look like flipping burgers at Burger King in lieu of taking that important and high-wage job in Manhattan so that you can be a part of building His kingdom through a healthy local church. It may look like changing diapers all day everyday while that Masters Degree sits in the closet getting moth-eaten. It may mean giving up church planting to do His bidding elsewhere. It may even mean stopping it all just to sit at His feet for a season. Only He knows. So choose to listen to Him and let Him guide you.

From an early age our culture addresses little children in this manner: "What do you want to be when you grow up?" Implied is occupation, employment.

How do you hope to employ your time, to engage your attentions? As we generously begin to supply possible answers for that youngster, "Teacher? Astronaut? Actor? Doctor?" they listen with wonder-filled eyes. And so begins their quest for identity and purpose. We’ve led them astray just as we were led astray.

The two ornamental fruit trees near the back window are done blooming; white and pink petals that covered the ground last week and are now blown away or disintegrated. I’ve watched pairs of house finches and tanagers find respite in their branches, jays and cardinals and others as well. Now the branches seem relatively empty. I’m not sure where the birds are at this point in the season. Not in these two trees.

But the rest gathered, 39 of us plus some friends. All 23 grandchildren were here, playing ball and taking turns riding in the red wagon, wandering in and out of the playhouse and the side porch, exploring Nana’s garden path and the bit of "wilderness" in the far back, building Playmobil scenes in the front room and playing games in the dining room. Simultaneously the side porch and kitchen and family room and front room housed adult conversation and laughter. We shared a fabulous spread of grilled meats and salads and beautiful desserts. We celebrated Memorial Day with recollection of the debt owed to so many. We drank deeply of the joy of family and home for which we are so thankful. Above all we gave praise to our ever faithful God and Savior.

All thirty-nine of us then gathered on the front porch for a group picture here at 1942, filling the deacons’ bench, sitting across the front, and lining up from door to corner post. Smiling and singing "cheese" in crazy tunes for minutes on end, we posed while a friend snapped photo after photo. Will this be the last time? That was the unspoken question that we all wondered. Will this be the last time this group of people is all together here at this home we’ve loved so well? And we kind of assumed it probably was. We smiled and laughed and enjoyed the moment.

The reality is that we are but pilgrims. Yes, this home was wonderful and precious to us all. Very much so. Nurturing and all it entails (the pain of growing, the thrill of learning, and the joy of loving) happened here, day in and day out, since January of 1984 when it became our own. This home has been shaped by us, and it has shaped us in return. Homes are like that. You reap what you sow.

1942 (previously 46 Main). We love you and the memories of times shared. The people, the experiences – history and lit classes culminating with displays of the Titanic and Mark Twain and medieval times and Civil War and the American Revolution, college barbecues with countless new faces and friendships to be discovered, shared Christmas Eves and Christmas Days and Easters, backyard wedding showers and birthday celebrations, Pumpkin Field football, hours of Playmobil and favorite movie watching by candlelight, Christmas parties all aglow, piano lessons and Dixie Chicks in the music room, shenanigans in bedrooms at bedtimes and all times – this is all part of life at 1942. It will be terribly missed.