Unexpected Blessings

Ridiculous.

That’s  how one local woman put it as she gazed out her kitchen window last week and saw fresh snowfall dusting the sheen of ice covering her back yard. And I completely concur.

Ridiculous.

I blame this early taste of winter on commercialism. All those stores that put out Christmas decorations before Halloween has even had a chance to say Boo. And the people who are actually shopping already, for Christmas—this is your fault. You know who are. Thanks a lot.

To be fair, it’s not just the snow that put me in a cantankerous mood. I had a host of problems plaguing me days before the thermometer plummeted and turned our balmy, golden autumn into a rural version of the Ice Capades.

While I was away visiting family, the water line under my bathroom sink came loose and, in a stunning simulation of Old Faithful, sprayed water everywhere. For days. Half of my house and my entire basement were flooded. As I write this, giant fans and behemoth dehumidifiers are roaring…I’d like to say “in the background,” but that wouldn’t be accurate at all. The din is ever present in every room, impossible to ignore. I fear the sound may well be permanently embedded in my brain at this point. (Day 5 as I type this.)

But until things dry out no repairs can begin; no reconstruction of the torn out floors and walls; no putting things back where they belong. Even any real clean up efforts are futile at this point.

This waiting, though.

With the weather too cold and crappy to go outside, and drying machines blasting day and night, no reparations to busy my hands and occupy my mind, I’ve had time to come to some humbling realizations.

For as many (mis)adventures as I’ve had over the years, at this stage of life, I consider myself a homebody. My private space is important to me, and I like my creature comforts. After a brief period of homelessness when my life imploded a few years back, I experienced a certain sort of anxiousness around being able to feel safe, so when I was in a home of my own again, it was kind of a big deal.

Maybe too big of a deal.

That’s what I realized this past week, sitting on my couch, fans droning, air blasting, here with my thoughts.

Looking around at the depressing level of deconstruction of my home the water damage has necessitated, I started to feel those old pangs of panic bubbling up again. How safe was I, really, if a water leak could cause all this?

But then something remarkable happened.

People.

Neighbors. Friends. Family. Coming to my aid.

From home cooked meals to open doors for use of a bathroom, or simply a reprieve from the fans; offers of help in so many different ways, from so many. All these hands, extended toward me, lifting me up, holding a space for my recovery from this blow. It has made me realize the true nature of safety, and where it’s actually found.

Not within the confines of the walls of a house. But in the loving concern and protection provided by the people who care enough to come around—with a bowl of soup, a pair of earplugs or a prayer, or a funny story to tell to take my mind off the mess.

All you who truly care have helped me to see this—this is your doing.

You know who are.

Thanks a lot.