Monday, the day after Palm Sunday when we Christians celebrate our Lord’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem. Palm Sunday in NW Arkansas is memorable for being downright uncomfortable. A brisk wind blew snow in front of it; snow that settled over the grass and last fall’s leaves. Finally, the snow stopped but the wind stuck around. It is still with us this morning. I am thankful for my warm house and am mindful that there are many without the blessing of a shelter from the cold.
Which brings me to the subject of houses. I sometimes wonder if houses contain an aura of the people who have lived there. Not ghosts, mind you, just a feeling of peace or joy or maybe sadness left behind like an imprint within the four walls. Mom stayed on in the house where they had lived several years after Dad died. She loved that house and the yard. She had a green thumb and the flowers showed that someone there cared for them. For a long time after Mom left, it was very hard to enter that house. The emptiness resonated. But then one day I realized the feeling I had was one of peace. I like to think it may be because my parents enjoyed living there and if there was ever an optimistic two people it was my dad and mom.
Then I think of another house where my family lived briefly when I was a teenager. I did not like that house and never felt comfortable there. No matter the temperature, the house never seemed to warm up. The house had a history. A man was building it for his fiancee but before the house was finished, the young lady died. Later, he did complete the house and married someone. Of course, all old houses are drafty which could account for the sound of doors opening or something like footsteps in the upstairs hall. If houses have an aura, that one was of sadness. But then, other people lived there later and felt perfectly at home so my active imagination may be at the bottom of it all. D’you think?
Today as I look at the cold sunshine lighting the bricks on the house across the street, I think about my own house. What do visitors feel when they enter the front door? In spite of the opinionated woman who lives here (me), I like to think they feel a spirit of welcome , a feeling that for them the latch string is always out and the peace of the Lord within these walls.
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