We were talking about decorating. She asked if I had ideas for her bathroom. The first thing that came to mind was, “I like an unexpected lamp.”
It’s no secret that lighting is important. It seems to answer most questions. How do we want to see ourselves, each other? “In a good light.” How do we get to the truth of the matter? “Well, we shine a light on it.” What’s the greatest disinfectant? “Light.” How will we find our way? “Lights will guide you home.”
My mother’s makeup routine was quite a process. And she needed good lighting. Even in basement apartments, where we couldn’t drink the water, if she could light the bathroom, find herself beyond the damage and the dust, then she was, we were, saved.
It’s all about giving ourselves the warmth of chance, the illumination of possibility. So we can set off into the world and find the best of us, the lights that offer joy, comfort, direction, hope — all the glowing of grace. And quite often it won’t be from the people we expect, the ones who are “supposed to.” Often mid stumble, they come. And they do the impossible. Offer so much light, you find yourself shining. And you find out, you too, can be the unexpected lamp.
Before I knew how to spell either, the word nest was synonymous with the word comfort. I built one for my baby dolls and stuffed animals right beside my twin bed —sheeted with Raggedy Ann and Andy, topped with Big Susie, the largest of my stuffed dolls, who watched over them all when I went to Kindergarten at Washington Elementary. And when I needed a nest of my own, when spelling, or sharing, or the afternoon milk break became too much to handle, I would borrow the blankets (with their permission of course) and build a nest beside my mother’s bed, and she would Big Susie me through the night, and I was saved.
It’s no secret that I love to paint birds. This year, for the first time, I started giving them nests. So perhaps it’s no surprise that this is when it appeared, the giant nest at the edge of the forest. I’ve already built one panel with the wood, and it continues to support me daily. Between step and worry, it always makes me smile as I pass. This could out-Susie any problem that I had. And so I leave it at the nest.
And isn’t that what we all have to do in order to fly? I empty my cares, and walk a little lighter. This may be the day, this could be the day, the day that I fly!
