Thoughts roam when I enter this yard. There’s not much to it really – an ash dominates,
while two young live oaks rival like siblings.
Off to the right, a persevering pine and a China
berry brought from East Texas have put down
roots and determined to survive.
Enclosing this little plot of flat land, leans stout-hearted the fence
that Papa built.
I identify with every element of this yard, but particularly
the fence. To her credit, she has
withstood driving winds, drought, and temperature extremes. She has done her best to guard against
intrusion, confine our pets, and serve as a backdrop for parties. We’ve hung garlands, banners, and candle
filled lanterns from her posts. She’s
been climbed, peered through, and studied.
Aged to perfection, her gate no longer swings, yet she still kicks up
her heels in celebration and her pickets ripple like a glissando under pianist
fingers. I hear her sing of her maker on
blustery days, when wind whistles through cracks and joy streams in on sun
beams through her knot holes. Monument
of love, she embraces us as her maker hoped she would, affording protection in
his absence, and ever reminding us of his desire to bless and care for us.
I recall that at eighty years old, he traveled day after day
on what he termed his “tricycle” from Stephenville. What were his thoughts as he traversed many a
mile on highway shoulders to erect a fence for us? Perhaps he contemplated what he intended to pass
on to Matt, my son, while they worked side by side under the blazing sun. Maybe he reminisced about doing the same with
his own son years ago, causing his eyes to fill with tears. I’m
certain his thoughts were of others, as he pressed on hopeful glancing only
briefly over his shoulder.
He’s coached me well to look back teachable and with thanksgiving,
while moving forward with clearer vision.
And so I look about my yard, a mature woman, hair waved and graying like
the fence, and I reflect on the occasions celebrated on this patchy grass. I remember the animals that have come and
gone. I walk beneath the shade of the
trees, and around the fifteen foot China berry I carried not long ago in a Dixie
cup of Crockett soil, when the Lord uprooted us both and we came to live
here. I look at her with her trunk
curved a bit like a mama’s hip, and gaze at her great arms sturdy and prepared
to hold my climbing grandchildren.
GRANDCHILDREN, two in one year!!
One season follows another and I grow old, fade, and lean – lean harder
on the Lord.
I run my fingers along the little clothesline that held
towels and bonnets for children attending Jaxon’s first birthday. Ants run busy along the tightly stretched
cord, life marches on! There at my feet
between the gnarled fingers of the trees is a little paper umbrella cast off
one of his cupcakes. All the hours that
went into commemorating his first year of life, poof, and they are gone and a
new day steps on stage briefly to dance.
I remember fondly this summer in terms of parties and vacations –
Nelson’s adoption carnival, Jaxon’s under the sea birthday, Lori’s woodland
party, and our overseas trip to Spain
and Morocco!!
Reverently the sun drops to her knees and disappears below
the tree line, leaving behind her glory.
My heart ignites in gratitude. I
notice a few tallow leaves, equally moved, suspended like crimson tears on the
limb above me.
“The one thing I want from God, the thing I seek most of all
is the privilege of meditating in His Temple, living in His presence every day
of my life, delighting in His incomparable perfections and glory. There I’ll be when troubles come. He will hide me. He will set me on a high rock out of reach of
all my enemies. Then I will bring Him
sacrifices and sing His praises with much joy.”
I’m standing in His courts, “the
yard” of His house, meditating, fenced in secure, eyes transfixed on the beauty
of the Lord! Thank YOU for a summer of wonderful memories, LORD!!!
Gazing
Upon His Beauty,
Terry
