safety and comfort

I've been in the building hundreds of times, maybe thousands. The cold, concrete steps lead up to the porch wjth chipping red paint. A windchime greets visitors warmly--especially on cold fall afternoons and cold, snowy, icy winter days like today. As I enter the front hall, there are hooks along the wall waiting expectantly for visitors to hang coats and bags.

I take a deep breath--the smell of tea, cookies and perfume mingle in the air. I wander into the back meeting room, furnished more like a living room. Collapsing onto the couch, I close my eyes and the room comes alive--the laughter of friends, the chanting of prayer, the joy of surprise parties and celebrations, afternoons and evenings spent in tears...all of it lives in this room. The red couch in the corner taunts me with the old game--how many butts can fit? The record is 7.

After pausing in the kitchen for a moment, to grab tea in one of the blue and white mugs that simply screams belonging, I slowly climb the stairs. The offices are cozy, decorated with photos, books and candles. Each one reflects the personality of the occupant, each unique but warm and inviting. The building is more like a home than a bunch of offices--there is a peace and a deep sense of sprituality and grace. I step softly through the doorway, covered in kid art. There are collages of photos on the wall--familiar faces smile back at me. There is such happiness reflected there. I turn back to the hallway, but I don't move quickly. The last part of this goodbye is not a step I want to take. Slowly, I descend the stairs on the far side of the house and enter the room I dread--the room that is hardest to let go of...the toughest goodbye.

With my eyes closed, I could find my way around this room...the desk, the couch, the bookcases--even the placement of certain pictures are burned into my mind. I tip the rocking chair back and forth as I examine photos of both unfamiliar faces and faces that know me better than I know myself. The couch beckons me, but I know that if I give in, if I sink into the couch and pull a pillow on to my lap like I had done so many times before, I would never get up. I'd want to take root right there and remain in my safe cocoon. It was easier...there was no risk involved in staying right here in this house. But it was time to say goodbye. I treasure the roots I've been given here and I'll always have a place to come home to, but it is time to take wing and fly.

pants pants pants If you put those pants on me (the enemy called pants, n&k)