This is the penthouse. Where I do most of my study and writing these days. From here I can look out over yard and field and woods.
It used to be my husband’s room. He remembers oven summers and freezer winters. He remembers lying on his bed and peeling away layers of wallpaper, vaguely remembers a cowboy paper. That’s the extent of his memory. He doesn’t remember that he gazed out the windows and dreamed. And he studied in the kitchen.
Jeremy also grew up in this room. Lived here for 21 years. I think the only time the windows were ever opened was when I insisted on airing it out. I don’t know why he kept them shut. And usually left the shades down. He slept with a fan blasting on him, summer and winter. Insulated from the world.
I wondered, looking from the outside in. What made those boy hearts pound with excitement or ache with pain? What thoughts or hopes or fears or regrets tumbled through their pillowed heads?
For that matter, what goes through their man heads now?
And why has it taken me so long to slow down and wonder?
And I think about how as a writer I can get wrapped inside my own mind and dare to spill my insides on the page and how maybe I need to stand on the outside more often and look deep inside others. To see past their masks and through their shades.
Later I look from inside out over a mystery world of changing seasons and a field ripe for the harvest. And I wonder how those boy-men could have missed this. I think of how He told me to consider the flowers and look at the birds. And I think of how the invisible is made visible in creation. If we slow down and have eyes to see and linger long enough to peel our way to the holy.
Yet in the seeing, can I also hear the cries of those who hurt, who stand on the outside? Can I feel what they feel?
And the deeper question. Do I want to?
Might those who live in longing see a glimpse of Him through my own smudged windows?
Might they see Him through my broken words?
It’s another Window View Friday at the Moonboat Cafe.
I heart you and I love this post. Beautiful.
I heart you back.
I believe God writes on our hearts what He wants the world to see in us…surrender to Him is the key. Not sure that makes sense but that is what I thought when I read your post.
Blessings!
That makes perfect sense. Maybe that’s part of why I’m sitting these days. So He doesn’t have to write on a moving target. 😉
I like your musing here, and I like being able to see where you write. Something tells me I’d like writing there myself.
I still think we’re twins.
I love your penthouse — seems like the perfect writing spot (with the shades up and the windows open, that is). I also like your musings here about insides and outsides — what we see and what we present.
This is so beautiful. You truly have a gift.
That’s an interesting point you raise, about getting caught up in our own thoughts as writers. It’s hard work to see inside the hearts of others, and then as a writer, I wonder if I’m betraying something by sharing their stories. I go back and forth on this one. (Even this week, I struggled with this …)
I so enjoyed seeing your writing place. 🙂
Looking up from our pages is always a good idea. Nice post Sandra
Beautiful post and inspiring. Thank you for sharing.
Yes … you help us see Him through your wonderful view.
Ohhhhh, I like this post. 🙂
I certainly can get so caught up in my own thoughts/emotions I forget to wonder about other people’s… And SO much goes on in those boy-heads *thinking of my brothers, here* and so often I don’t care to know what it is.
Ah, glad you have a window overlooking the world. Wonderful for a writer. 🙂
I need to get me a penthouse.
And to stand on the outside and take the time to look in. We yearn for that from others. Why so easy to neglect to do it for them?
I’ll be thinking about this post (and coveting your penthouse from my basement) for a long time. Thank you.