MY LIFE AS A HOUSE

In times of transition, I find it difficult to settle down and write. It seems my thoughts flow only when I feel calm; and grounded. At those times, the dam opens, and out pours months of marinated mindfulness.

At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself, because right now, I can barely put my panties on straight, let alone string words together in any kind of cohesive, colorful, thought-provoking pattern.

Lately, my energies and focus have been keeping our daily life consistent, even as we’re working every day toward our move overseas. The paperwork alone ...

My mom sent me a card the other day to help lift the spirits she noticed were swimming somewhere in the deep end. And in it, she reminded me basically to "keep it together," as I am the center of my family’s universe.

For a moment, that sentiment calmed me and rejuvenated my sense of purpose and my resolve to "keep it together" during our time of transition.

Then I thought …

If that’s true — If I am the core — then our universe is swirling.

Or is it?

Deliberate change, I’ve come to learn, isn’t my strong point. I’m better at consistency and cultivating gardens with patterns that grow only with time and constant care.

Maybe though, my place isn't a structure with lots of trees, a wrap-round porch and a garden filled with loads of vegetables and flowers to cut.

Maybe, I’m beginning to realize, if I pay closer attention to life’s connections through people, vs through structures that come and go, I can realize my desire to nurture things that grow.

I have to step back and remind myself that even if I had consistency in life; a solid house in a solid place with a solid school for my children and the kind of innate sense of direction that comes only with time —a knowledge of where to go and how to get there without using my GPS — life would still offer up its daily hurdles.

It took me some time — a flood; a dead car battery; lots of lawn mowing, and a few other signals, like my children's thoughts in their Mother's Day wishes, before the message began to knit together for me.

And then came the clincher.

One of the best things about our time spent in DC has been our involvement with our church. My faith has taken some different paths over the years; sometimes on, sometimes off my confirmed religion.

When confronted with a new place and a new space, I know whether or not going to church consistently is going to work for me by two things: the first time I walk into a religious space — the feel of the building/architecture; and by hearing the pastor speak — their ability to reach me through presence and words.(Okay. Maybe three — good music rates high with me.)

I found that here — a connection with the pastor. And I've been lamenting leaving. And then last week I learned my favorite Godly man is taking a leave of absence from his priesthood. Wow. (I wish him well, and I think I like and respect him even more now).

It took all this to remind me life is never consistent. On the good days, when I'm able to simply be present, I mostly just feel lucky for the amazing people I’ve met and spent time with along my journey. Each one has helped build an interior structure, which packs up nicely and travels wherever and whenever I do.

This is a place where I can enter and find comfort no matter where I am. It cannot be bought, sold, or rented. It travels with me. Maintenance is my responsibility. I try to keep it open with light and air, even during periods of renovation, so those around me can gain comfort from my center.