Today I rejoice in the view from the kitchen window as the stormy sky shines a bit of light on the transformed leaves. I’m arranging ingredients for dinner. I’m always here, at the back of the house, looking out.
I love the filtered light; it creates some kind of nostalgia, longing, joy—something.
I realize I see this view from my position of background service. It’s always in a quiet moment of reflection while setting out the dinner plates, sweeping the floor, scrubbing dishes, or arranging after school snack. It’s always in that moment when I’m gathering up the scraps of some craft or wiping off the spilled ingredients of another baking project. I glance up to the light and to those trees.
I’ve been glancing through the back window for all these years.
I think about service, about the low, hidden, secret places. I think about this ministry of housekeeping and the back views.
I thought of all the backyard views and our changing lives. I thought of how, today for Halloween, my daughters didn’t dress up for school. They’ll be no parade, no boo platter, and no events. They’re older, like I am. However, like me, they’ll all gather on the porch and greet the young trick-or-treaters. They’ll dole out candy and make the holiday happen for others.
It’s another kind of back view for me–of love and serving others, and we’ll laugh with joy over all we’ll see from that vantage point.