When we sold the family cabin on Washington Island after Dad died, I thought I’d be okay with that.
It was the summer we’d received an invitation to attend a wedding in the South of France, just around the time my mom and I would have shared our birthdays on the Island, if she had still been around.
In my head, I could hear her say, “Move on kids. Don’t get stuck being sentimental about the past.” She was a pioneer, ever venturing out into new territory and ministries. The market was slow. It would take years to sell. I was sure of that. So we went to France.
The first message that popped up on my phone when we got home was that there had been an accepted offer.
Since that time, there is hardly a day I don’t miss the cabin. But it seems wherever Todd finds for us to go to get away, I’m always saying, “This is just like the Island.” He has an eye for discovering places that make me feel immediately at home. Even in France.
I’ll never forget Jean Marc and Marianne who welcomed us into our cute country cottage in Parado where we would eat our dinners al fresco to the songs of cicadas, and wake to sunlight creating patterns across the walls not unlike our bedroom at the cabin. I felt so at home.
And this past week, I felt just as much so in our little house in the woods overlooking the Shenandoah. “It feels just like the cabin!” I said when I cooked dinner the first night. It’s become a standing joke. But they even had Mom’s spices!
I was surprised to see the fiery light of the sun at dusk reflecting off the leaves through the trees one evening as we walked down to the water. Even Fannie stopped to look. Having been clueless about any sense of direction, I realized where west was. I didn’t expect to find the sun the color of the roses along the side of the house, double-yoked through a sliver of cloud in a milky white sky. It took my breath away.
The truth is, I always struggle with a sense of direction. But this morning as I was up with the sun, wrapped in my yoga blanket, drinking coffee, doing my devotions, I remembered an old hymn—
“In Christ there is no east or west, in him no north or south, but one great fellowship of love throughout the whole wide earth.” (John Oxenham)
Isn’t that what being home is all about?
I hope you enjoy the pictures. Thanks for sharing this special time with us. Sending love.