I've been working in my basement for the past many weeks. I have two small curtained windows. I can tell if it's day or night, sunny or cloudy, but that's about it. Sometimes I go on the road and move to the first floor, where I am surrounded by sun. But when I really need to focus, I retreat to the basement.
On a damp and dreary day this week, I walked up the steps and saw a view I will never tire of, one I will always appreciate. These days, it's my view at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. However, this year, I have time to appreciate it. I've noticed the leaf buds on the rose of sharon as the sun sets. During the day, I didn't even notice that they were there! They just blended into the wood. But, when the sun is going down, they are backlit and delightful.
Then, there is the weed that God planted many years ago. Now, it is a tree that gives us a tremendous amount of shade late in the day. However, this is the first year that I noticed how the leaves grow in clusters. Have they always grown like that? How is it possible that they will provide shade in a couple of months?
And the squirrel that I see hanging out on its branch - just lazing the day away. I believe it's the same one each time. Oh, and how about the morning doves that I thought only sat in the tree on rainy days. As it turns out, they are there on sunny days as well.
On this Mother's Day weekend, I think about one of the last conversations I had with my Mom. It was the moment that she came to grips with the fact that she would not be going home. She told me she would miss her house at night - the way it glowed. It felt so warm to her. I'm sure it was a combination of the lamp in the picture window, the gold and orange in the shag rug, the comfortable gold swivel rockers, and the golds and the browns of the Early American furniture. No matter what it was that made that room glow, it was that warmth that she would miss.
May we all grow in appreciation for our little view of the planet. May it bring us peace.
