Boxes and Bridges
Lenses
I moved into the cabin yesterday and will be stationary for the first time in four months. I’d be a fargin’ liar if I said I was not already dealing with little head voices becoming louder. “Did I make a mistake?” “I set out with plans to be on the road much longer.” “Did I give in already for more stable comfort?” I can say with certainty “no” to those voices.
I’m here on purpose for purpose.
By committing to six months, I’ve dropped anchor and boxed myself in. My hope is for winter to paint me into a corner of that box and fold the flaps over, forcing me to sit still. Only then will I be able to examine the box from the inside. From outside the box, I can see the cracks and seams, but being inside the darkness requires a sharpened eye. I want to learn how to better find, and wisely walk towards, the stray streaks of light that will lead me through darkened tunnels.
My box will be an A-frame house, four times the size of my rig. I can no longer touch the ceiling nor feel the entire house wiggle when Ridge repositions on the couch. The pups have exchanged rabbits for deer, and thankfully, they quietly watch the deer rather than shaking their nuts and bolts loose over cottonballs at the rv park. Creek, being a terrier, took off twice, nose to the ground in the dark, chasing bunnies.
I feel like a shrunk wrapped mattress un-shrunking, only to find out the bed frame is bigger than the mattress. How did I ever fill up a stationary house, and barn, and property? I’ve quickly adapted to life without stuff, and even some of the stuff I have I don’t use.
As I sit still, I’ll be looking for more truth-telling mirrors. Until four months ago, I would hide my emotions under cloak, much like Harry Potter, snooping around under his cloak of invisibility. He could see out, but his vision was distorted and his hearing muffled. He also was not completely cloaked. Any emotion he experienced had to be held in, absorbed, and kept to himself or else he’d be found out. “Don’t look for me too diligently – I’m hiding.”
I committed to the cabin on purpose. It’s time to remove the cloak and receive life with open arms. This region and its winter offerings have been calling my name for decades. Snow is magical to me, so far, and I expect a mystical season of being unboxed. There’s work to be done yet.
This will be my first holiday season away from any family. When I left Texas in July, I was still wearing my cloak. There were no hesitations when I waived “see ya later, tater” and watched the Texas road diminish in my rear-view camera. (I have an electrical short now causing my rear-view camera’s image to appear upside down.)
The camera’s image is now a direct analogy for an aspect of my life in Texas.
To continue with vulnerability, my brother and I have had a falling out for the second time ever. We are in a Mexican stand-off and the strength of our resolves is being illustrated by lack of communication. He and I have lived together four times since leaving the family home, so there’s no shortage of closeness, but we have not talked since I left.
How does one reconcile any relationship when both sides feel justified in their own version of the story?
I’ve been using a tool called the ‘Grandpa Lens’ to manage delicate situations. I pretend I’m at a campfire with grandpa and wait for his guidance. He usually sits quietly for a moment but always responds the same.
“Just love ‘em where they are,” he whispers. His love stokes the furnace of my heart. His wisdom fills my lungs with soft words. His grace reminds me I’m broken as well.
Grandpa’s lens is ultimately me in thirty years, allowing me an intimate look into other hearts first. Then, I turn the lens towards my mirror.
Perspective.
Every relationship has a bridge between the two parties. Ideally, both sides have tended to their half of the bridge, allowing safe passage fully to each other’s side. I can only keep my half of the bridge in good repair. I will gladly walk the entire length of the bridge to someone else’s porch, if it’s safe, so I will only walk sections I trust. Also, if my side falls into disrepair, not only am I stuck, but others cannot safely make their way to me.
I will continue to keep my bridge cleared of debris as I find it. As soon as the second half of unsafe bridges are opened, I will cross them.
I’m thankful every day for the grace and favor I receive. I expect great things daily but am not disappointed if they don’t. I continue to look for beauty in every mile but appreciate the ugly I’ve come face to face with. I live with an open heart, even for those that are closed.
