When I was a little girl, I would spend weeks at a time with my grandparents. They lived on a wide expanse of land in the middle of nowhere. "Going into town" was a big deal, and the road was made of dirt that had to be leveled every few weeks to mitigate erosion. Every morning and every evening (weather permitting) my grandfather sat on his porch and drank coffee or iced tea. It was a quiet time. Quiet conversation. Quiet activities. Quiet minds. When he'd finished his drink he would slap his hands on his knees and say "Wel'p." I've always thought this was a contraction of "well" and "up"... but I've never actually asked. Regardless, it was an incentive to get moving. Then he would stand and get busy with the day or go into the house to watch the nightly news.
I treasured these moments of quiet. The air seemed softer and the birds seemed louder. It was like meditation without the official title. It was calming. Even as an adult, I find my grandparent's porch to be a balm in the midst of a crazy life.
When I bought my house I knew it was the right one. The porch was perfect. The first morning I woke up, made a cup of coffee, and sat on the front steps drinking not only coffee but also the early morning August air. That evening, I did the same on my back porch. I often invited my sister-in-law over to join me, and we would sit together slowly waking up. I've thrown a few parties, and I've noticed two gathering places: the kitchen and the porch. The living room with all of its couches and comfortable chairs is often empty. But the porch is always full of conversation.
My dear friends know that the deepest conversations are had on my back porch under the techni-color glow of my owl lights, staring at the branches of the trees, catching glimpses of the stars as they pulse brighter than the back light of the city, and annoying my neighbor with late night laughter. Often I find myself sitting in my rocking patio chair drinking a cup of tea and listening to the woes of 4th grade spelling tests or how hard hitting a certain note on the trumpet is or which jump rope technique is the most effective during the annual jump-a-thon. It's amazing how much more meaningful these conversations are when they are had on the porch instead of in the car while rushing from one place to another or at the dinner table (which is the ultimate in multi-tasking... serve food, clean up, carry on conversation, referee arguments, and somehow manage to eat...).
The porch is a place of accidental peace. It is an intensely quiet area where I can actually focus on the important things being brought to me by my friends or children or a place where I can reflect on my thoughts without the distraction of the television or music or work or the fact that my kitchen is dirty and the fans need to be dusted. I spend my moments listening to the sounds of the birds and enjoying the soft air before dusting off my hands and saying "Wel'p!" That single word encouraging me to face my life again and bring into my hectic day the peace I'd had a moment before. I'm grateful for my porch.
"Do that which makes you complete. Be comforted. Work to get along with others. Live in peace." - 2 Cor. 13:11
