When the Porch is Reviled

I have a confession: Most of the things that I love to enjoy most in life are tainted with a memory here and there that could easily rip the joy away.

Does that mean I stop loving those things? Does that mean I stop going to those places? Does that mean I hide or run or become bitter and resentful?

Does that mean I stop sitting on the porch?

I could. I could distract myself and convince myself that I really don’t love sitting on the porch all that much. I could bury the broken memory of a joyous proposal on the porch. I could forget unkind and cutting words on the porch. I could stop sitting and receiving joy on the porch since I’ve also received pain on the porch. I could leave behind the sacred memories of laughter with family and prayers prayed from a surrendered heart on the porch since I’ve also convulsed in lonely and forgotten weeping on the porch.

I could close the door and find a new place to sit. I could wallow in the disappointment of the dream shattered of having a constant companion on the porch.

Yes, I could allow the porch to be reviled. Or, I can sit and receive again. I can sit and laugh with my children. I can open the gate and make a pot of a coffee and invite all to sit who wish to come.

The porch, for me, is a great metaphor for the choice we have when life hits hard. When life hits hard, we can stop believing in love. We can stop believing in transformation and trust. We can isolate and blame and become cold and hard. We can comfort ourselves with distraction and temporary pleasure. When Life hits hard, no one should blame us if we choose that route. If you have chosen that route, come and sit with me. I sometimes do too. There is no judgment or condemnation on my porch.

When Life hits hard, we can stop believing and drown in sorrow.

Or, we can sit. We can wait. We can keep believing. We can believe in redemption. We can believe that there is goodness within and around us still to be uncovered and experienced.

And, in the midst of the waiting and believing, we do not need to stay still. We can speak and will our hands and our feet into action.

The porch is not reviled.

Last weekend as a giant festival took place up and down my street, with the main stage of activity taking place in view from my porch, I welcomed friends and children to sit and be. My hands prepared a big pot of coffee and a giant shareable mojito.

A dog ate my lunch. A child couldn’t hold it any longer and relieved herself right on my porch steps. One of the musicians got overheated and I led her to my porch for a cold drink. Old friends and new friends. Laughter and conversation. Connection and joy.

The porch is not reviled.

Keep believing.

Keep receiving.