How does one sing a song in a strange land? That’s a question I’ve been asking myself over the last three months as we prepare to leave a beloved country property and move into town. Surroundings to which I trusted my voice and shared my deepest yearnings now seem to wait to see if we can actually leave. Some days I feel like a nomad, pitching my tent in a different county and looking for water to satisfy my insatiable thirst for stability. In our ‘new to us’ home, I look for possibilities to find my space. Several rooms, yet unidentified to their future use begin to stimulate thoughts. My voice echoes through the open space and emphasizes the house’s emptiness. My questions about one area being too small or another definitely too large, causes me to wonder what will fit where. Walking through the rooms, I slowly begin to vaguely see the images of my favourite rocking chair in a corner with natural light from a nearby window. From the edge of the room, I see a rug has been pulled back to expose a lovely 100-year-old white pine floor waiting to possess its former beauty. Wallpaper has been teased away from its unmarked plaster, leaving itself open for a fresh coat of paint. Looking through the wide expansive windows, I see a robin, home from her long journey, sitting on the fence wishing away the snow as she sings her new song. I look at a blanket of snow, yet I know it lies over, what I hope will become a garden to behold. Through the glass, I notice the disappearing snow has exposed grey-looking grass and I know given time, it will change to a fresh and soft green mat. Crocuses and tulips push through the snow, a reminder that beauty is just below the surface of the unknown.
This is the time of Lent. Newness will come. Grace will triumph. Hopefully, I will see the covering of sin and omissions in my own life disappear as new life frees, allows and welcomes new growth. I look back to the empty rooms and I think, “Truly, this too shall pass” as it gives way to a fresh invitation of a new season of life. At the moment, our empty home is void of furniture, dishes and texture, until the moving van arrives. However in that emptiness, what counts most is obvious: people, love, forgiveness, challenge, co-operation and God’s love. Truly that’s a good beginning to finding my voice, and listening to a new song in this new and somewhat strange land. Donna Mann http://www.donnamann.org/ http://meadowlane.homestead.com (Farm Stories for kids) ddmann@bell.net
1 comment:
Donna,
I "walked" with you through that empty house - your prospective new home. You caused me to reflect on my numerous geographical moves over the years. While incurring the pain of uprooting, they also afford the joy and anticipation of new surroundings and of making them one's own.
Thank you.
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