๐‘ฎ๐’“๐’‚๐’ƒ ๐’š๐’๐’–๐’“ ๐’…๐’“๐’Š๐’๐’Œ ๐’‚๐’๐’… ๐’๐’†๐’•’๐’” ๐’ˆ๐’ ๐’”๐’Š๐’• ๐’๐’–๐’• ๐’๐’ ๐’•๐’‰๐’† ๐’‡๐’“๐’๐’๐’• ๐’‘๐’๐’“๐’„๐’‰!

I have heard those words countless times throughout my life, and said them even more.

Just what is it about sitting on the front porch?

For me, itโ€™s the place where life really happens. Itโ€™s everything, and nothing at all.

๐‘ญ๐’“๐’๐’๐’• ๐‘ท๐’๐’“๐’„๐’‰ ๐‘ณ๐’Š๐’—๐’Š๐’๐’ˆ ๐’Š๐’” . . .

. . . reminiscing. Recalling my favorite childhood memory of long ago days when my sister, brother, and I would spend summers on my grandparentsโ€™ farm in Michigan. Carefree days began with a cacophony of sounds: roosters crowing, chickens cackling, cows mooing, horses neighing, geese hissing,  grandpaโ€™s old, rusted red tractor spittinโ€™ and sputterinโ€™ to life, and the clanging of the machinery at the sawmill all swirling around in the cool morning air. Each day the same as the next – help Grandma set the breakfast table, clean the kitchen after breakfast, and do your assigned chore (mine was usually slopping the pigs). Lazy afternoons were made up of clambering around in the corn bin, swinging on the rope from the loft in the hay barn, or horseback riding in the endless, wide open field with the cousins. Evening time found us relaxing on the glider, waiting for the ringing of the dinner bell โ€“ our signal that we โ€œbess come and get it, or weโ€™ll go to bed with our tummies growlinโ€™.โ€

But the best part of the day could only be found on the weekend. You see, on the weekend, grandma seemed to slow down just a bit. The day began slower, simpler. She made us all finger toast โ€“ a slice of buttered toast loaded up with her homemade jam, cut into three slices โ€“ along with a cup of black coffee (thatโ€™s a story for another day!).  She would holler out, โ€œgrab your coffee and toast, and letโ€™s go sit on the front porch.โ€  We would sit there, on that front porch; a subtle aahhh would slip from her mouth as she savored each sip.  We would chat and chuckle about silly things, and in those moments we would be carefree, but mostly, we would be together. 

๐‘ญ๐’“๐’๐’๐’• ๐‘ท๐’๐’“๐’„๐’‰ ๐‘ณ๐’Š๐’—๐’Š๐’๐’ˆ ๐’Š๐’” . . .

. . . where I talk to Jesus, and tell him about the people in my life that own a piece of my heart. Where I offer up a prayer of desperation; where the cries of my heart compose a broken hallelujah. Itโ€™s where I get โ€œtaken to the wood shed,โ€ and learn how to be the best version of me. Itโ€™s where Iโ€™m reminded of the deeper meaning of forgiveness, and that love covers a multitude of sins. Itโ€™s the place where mercy and grace are new every morning.

๐‘ญ๐’“๐’๐’๐’• ๐‘ท๐’๐’“๐’„๐’‰ ๐‘ณ๐’Š๐’—๐’Š๐’๐’ˆ ๐’Š๐’” . . .

. . . where I go to escape this world and get lost in a good book. Itโ€™s where I record my thoughts in a journal, and list my blessings and all that I have to be thankful for. Itโ€™s the place where I spend time with the experts who share nuggets of wisdom on personal development. Where my beliefs are challenged and my fears are turned into faith. Itโ€™s the place where I ponder ways to make a difference in this world.

๐‘ญ๐’“๐’๐’๐’• ๐‘ท๐’๐’“๐’„๐’‰ ๐‘ณ๐’Š๐’—๐’Š๐’๐’ˆ ๐’Š๐’” . . .

. . . sharing deep conversation and unbelievable stories with family and friends. Itโ€™s where long phone conversations with far away friends take place; where big squeezy hugs miraculously travel through the air ways, spreading warmth and peace all the way through to the marrow of my bones. Itโ€™s the place where I am reminded that I am someoneโ€™s friend, Momma, MiMi, sister and daughter. Where I am reminded that I am worthy, and I matter.

๐‘ญ๐’“๐’๐’๐’• ๐‘ท๐’๐’“๐’„๐’‰ ๐‘ณ๐’Š๐’—๐’Š๐’๐’ˆ ๐’Š๐’” . . .

. . . the place where I gently rock to and fro, sip on my Lady Grey tea, and simply be. Itโ€™s where I watch the tree tops sway in the gentle breeze. Where I listen to the sing-song call of the birds, announcing to nature, โ€œweโ€™re here, weโ€™re here.โ€ Itโ€™s the place where I watch the sun slip into the night sky, as slumber settles in among the majestic mountain ranges. It is a cool refreshing drink of peaceful tranquility that quenches my dry, thirsty soul. It is my self-care. It is my peace.

So you see, my friends, the ๐‘ญ๐’“๐’๐’๐’• ๐‘ท๐’๐’“๐’„๐’‰ can be a place, or it can be more of a feeling. It can be whatever you need it to be, wherever you need it to be. Whether your ๐‘ญ๐’“๐’๐’๐’• ๐‘ท๐’๐’“๐’„๐’‰ is a literal front porch, a back porch, a balcony or lanai, a mountaintop or stretch of beach, a nature walk or bicycle ride โ€“ wherever you are, whatever you are doing, you can surely be ๐‘ญ๐’“๐’๐’๐’• ๐‘ท๐’๐’“๐’„๐’‰ ๐‘ณ๐’Š๐’—๐’Š๐’๐’ˆ.

So, g๐’“๐’‚๐’ƒ ๐’š๐’๐’–๐’“ ๐’…๐’“๐’Š๐’๐’Œ ๐’‚๐’๐’… ๐’๐’†๐’•’๐’” ๐’ˆ๐’ ๐’”๐’Š๐’• ๐’๐’–๐’• ๐’๐’ ๐’•๐’‰๐’† ๐’‡๐’“๐’๐’๐’• ๐’‘๐’๐’“๐’„๐’‰! โ˜•

3 thoughts on “๐‘ฎ๐’“๐’‚๐’ƒ ๐’š๐’๐’–๐’“ ๐’…๐’“๐’Š๐’๐’Œ ๐’‚๐’๐’… ๐’๐’†๐’•’๐’” ๐’ˆ๐’ ๐’”๐’Š๐’• ๐’๐’–๐’• ๐’๐’ ๐’•๐’‰๐’† ๐’‡๐’“๐’๐’๐’• ๐’‘๐’๐’“๐’„๐’‰!

Leave a reply to Bill Hutson Cancel reply