It was another lovely Old Friends Evening, like countless others we’ve enjoyed over the years. The hosting couple (us, this time) had prepared a meat dish (I think, in other circles, known as an entree) for dinner and others had filled in with salads, veggies, and dessert.
We had thoroughly enjoyed the dinner and, deciding against the customary dominoes and other entertainments, settled in the living room simply to talk. After nearly fifty years of friendship, you’d think we would have run out of subject matter, but there is rarely a moment of silence unless to pause in empathy for a loss or hardship of someone in the group, or indeed, any of our acquaintances.
I had described one of my honey-do items which couldn’t be put off any longer, the mention of which must have triggered a memory in his mind, when one friend asked suddenly if I had ever finished my deck. I laughed and told him it had been completed last summer.
Then I wondered; haven’t I shown the deck to these dear friends already? Well, we would remedy that without delay.
We—all eight of us—trooped to the back door to walk out on the structure. It was dark outside, so I flipped on the outside light to be sure none of us tripped going out. (We are OLD friends, you know.)
On the ground in front of the door, illuminated by the intense light, stood a rather large (and confused) opossum. It was evident to me that the creature had just emerged from under the deck we were all intending to examine shortly. As I pushed open the door, the timid animal spun and rushed back into the sanctuary of the low structure.
We all laughed and stepped out onto the deck, our friends all complimenting us on the welcoming outdoor space that had been created in that previously vacant corner of the building. Still, I could see some of them looking around as if fearful the opossum might make another appearance at any moment.
We went back inside.
Then again last night, visitors to our home were on that deck enjoying a warming fire in the stainless steel firepit and roasting marshmallows over the lovely flame. These guests live out on a mountainside, accustomed to wildlife dwelling in the woods that surround them. They weren’t phased by the thought of an opossum under their feet, so the evening passed in laughter and joyful conversation around the blazing logs.
But, these visitors had been with me when the deck was being built, as well. Before that, they had helped to deconstruct the neighbor’s old deck from which the lumber would be repurposed for ours. They had even abetted me in piling up that old lumber into the massive stack at the back of my yard that awaited whatever impetus it would take to move forward on the project of building our deck.
Months later, when I decided I could delay no longer, those visitors came back and helped me arrange that lumber into a deck once more, using nails and screws to hold it together. In the process, we removed the “structure” of the stack, strangely enough, disturbing a young opossum sheltering underneath it.
One can’t help but wonder…It could be…Nobody can prove otherwise, so I’m going to assume it is.
The same opossum we disturbed from its repose under the stack of lumber last summer is now living under the reconfigured stack—my deck.
Can’t you just see it?
The young creature, having wandered—homeless—for a few months, happens upon the newly built deck next to the house. Approaching it, the odor is unmistakable.
This is my home! The same home that was destroyed by those giants making such a ruckus and commotion.
And, then it pokes its long nose underneath.
But, it’s better! Look at all these rooms! And the space! With carpet on the floor even! Not even any weeds to poke me while I sleep! I’m home!
Home again.
You laugh, but sometimes reality is stranger than made-up stories. We all look for the familiar, even in strange surroundings.
Earlier this week, I listened as a friend explained why he attended the church fellowship we’re members of. He spoke of hearing the Lovely Lady play the flute, along with another musician, during an early worship service he and his wife attended. His memory went back to family members who had played those same instruments in the past and, leaning over to his wife, he said, “I’m home.”
The Psalmist, David, depressed as he wandered far from his home and the comfort of God’s people, reminded us that we may sometimes have the opposite experience. He longed for the familiar and the home he knew and yet, he was certain—absolutely convinced—that God was with him, even as he hid from those who would be happy to kill him.
“By day the Lord decrees his loyal love,
and by night he gives me a song,
a prayer to the God of my life.”
(Psalm 42:8, NET)
A few years ago, as the Lovely Lady and I left behind the business we had invested ourselves in and the house we had labored to make into a lovely, welcoming home, it felt a lot like that. Leaving home, unhappy at being uprooted from the comfortable, the familiar.
Funny thing. Nearly every day now, years past that unhappy time, I walk into the neighborhood and the house in which we live and I think (sometimes saying out loud), “What a lovely place we live in!”
I’m not sure the opossum gets to stay where he is. We may need to find him a new home soon. Time will tell.
But, that’s true for us, too. We’re just here temporarily.
Soon, we’ll be going home.
Really. Home.
Something like what we have here. Only better. A lot better.
I’m pretty sure we’ll be more comfortable there.
“Abraham was confidently looking forward to a city with eternal foundations, a city designed and built by God.“
(Hebrews 11:10, NLT)
“I read within a poet’s book
A word that starred the page:
‘Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage! ‘
Yes, that is true; and something more
You’ll find, where’er you roam,
That marble floors and gilded walls
Can never make a home.
But every house where Love abides,
And Friendship is a guest,
Is surely home, and home-sweet-home:
For there the heart can rest.”
(A Home Song by Henry Van Dyke)
© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2024. All Rights Reserved.
