There they were on the wood-slat porch. Young mother. Infant daughter. The old, bleached boards white with sun. Hole straight through, where rot opened way and black kitten jumped for cover. There must have been a second happy mama out of sight.
I arrived at the halfway mark of the young mother's weekly two hour visit with her daughter. Mom was in a deep, crouching position, utilizing her cell phone to capture baby's new ability to sit big on her own. So much to cram into the two-hour time slot she's been given. I sense she's feeling the pressure of the stranger supervising and the strangeness of being a new mom, but without a baby to mother most days. The pictures will be her medicine until the next reunion of flesh and blood.
No toys, no carpet to crawl on, 100' temp and no one to model to this young mom what parenting might look like. This is the scene my eyes take in, time slowing as I move toward them. None of that matters, though. The one significant thing casting shadow on everything else is the Spirit of Heaven walking up to the separated luv there are on the bare planks of that porch. A picture eerily reminiscent of the Cross.
They spot my arrival. Faces light up, baby arms respond with flailing. I went from one of the EVE girls that come into the strip clubs, to full-on may as well be blood sisters in just a few weeks' time. It's been eight months and oh how I luv my new family!
Just behind where the two of them sit, a door. One that leads to a long history and yoke of pain so mighty that only a miracle can heal. Not one of those flashy counterfeits, but a real, modern day miracle of luv. And the people a knob's-turn away? Well, they are groaning along with creation for something more. I can do nothing. But Him? He can do it all. So we scoop up baby off boards and turn the knob on that other bigger board cattywampus on its loose hinges. The door, like a billboard, sending a message to the world to notice what's within. We enter and the miracle happens. We enter in. And the darkness flees.
We play, we talk, we pretend walk and we live above the anemic circumstances of poverty in the extravagant fullness of luv.
As I leave, I start to dream about the history of that old house. The grand receiving room is situated just before the central architectural element of the dining room. This structure obviously built to foster family interaction and fellowship meals. Now nothing more than a worn couch and a small TV to fill up 700' of space. I wondered what it might have looked like with fresh paint and shiny floors. Then He whispered to me, I am restoring this house in a way that moth and rust cannot destroy, dear one.
