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September 30, 2024 | My Jottings

“There is nothing like staying at home for real comfort.” ~~~ Jane Austen

I was sitting in my living room this morning listening to the quiet. I looked at this view below and said in my heart, “I love my home.” And I thanked God again for the thousandth time that He has given me a home. When people all over the world don’t have homes, I have one. Why that is so, I have no answers to. I only know that I will not be caught being ungrateful for a sound dwelling where I can sleep in peace, have warmth when it’s cold, prepare food for anyone at my table, read by electric light, and of course pray.

I got up to get water in the kitchen for my 20-ounce navy blue Yeti cup and as I heard the creak of the hardwood floors in the dining room, I thanked God. I realize that I am just a steward of my home, and that it’s God who owns this white house on a corner by Lake Superior in northeastern Minnesota. I paused at the dining room fireplace to take this picture:

It reminded me of a promise I believe He made to me decades ago about a very heavy burden on my heart. Cardinals have become meaningful to me, and my home is filled with them because people have given me cardinal gifts after hearing that story.

My 10 year-old granddaughter Miriam asked me not long ago, “Grandma, how many cardinals do you have in your house?” I encouraged her to count, and while the exact number escapes me this moment, we had a fun time going from room to room and she kept exclaiming, “Oh! Here’s another one! And another!”

Here’s a gift I treasure from my friend Su — it was supposed to be a welcome mat but I don’t want it outside to get dirty and wet — so I put it against the living room carpet in the entry way. I step on it every day and think of her, and love its beauty.

I sat in my bedroom chair an hour later and looked out on Lake Superior, on my quiet little neighborhood filled with older homes with young families in them, I looked at the crows on the power lines and the chickadees almost hidden in my hydrangea bush, and I felt gratitude welling up again. I can actually see these things. I can perceive God’s handiwork and His grace to me so that I can see how He works in this world. Slowly. Reliably. In ebbs and flows. With faithfulness.

When I don’t understand what God is doing, looking long and pondering deeply on all His ways in creation helps me. When I see trees that look dead in the winter, I’m reminded that in a few months, the life and fruitfulness that were hidden in the cold and dark were waiting until the proper time to show themselves.

I took my foster gal to a medical appointment this morning and since it was a blood draw for a future doctor’s visit, we weren’t gone long. Even though we had only driven a couple of miles, waited a few minutes inside the clinic, then driven those same miles home, she said, “It’s good to be home!” when I hit the garage door opener on my car’s visor and we pulled into the garage. She feels it too. She knows God has been so generous with us and we have a warm and cozy place to live out our lives.

Like most people who get to the end part of their lives, I think about dying. I wouldn’t say I’m afraid, but I’m sobered by wanting to be ready. I want all the words and love I have for my daughters and grandchildren and friends to be said, and I’m not doing as well as I’d like. I want everything to be in order… not just my “affairs”, but my heart and soul and relationships. I want to know the voice of Jesus and love Him truly. I have absolutely placed my trust in Christ and have no hope of anything good apart from Him. But I know there are things He still wants to do in my life. In this home.

I would like to die in this home He’s given me, and I have asked Him to grant me that. With my loved ones around me. With songs of His love and greatness in my ears. With nothing left undone.

Today, in the quiet, in the jewel-tones everywhere, in the warmth blowing out of the registers, in the company of cardinals, I thank Him.

From my home to yours,