Years ago, we went through an incredibly financially challenging period of our lives. The smartest thing to do, on paper anyway, would have been to sell the house and downsize into something more affordable. We didn’t though. While many smart people would surely disagree with our choice, we kept fighting, we kept working the puzzle, and we changed our mindset until we could change our lives. Instead of resenting the house for the financial burden it represented, I decided that if so much of our resources were going to this one thing, then we should value it accordingly. I worked harder to keep it clean, even as the house was starting to wear down and things were starting to break. I regarded it as our refuge, our sanctuary. When the wolves of the world were chasing us down, as long as you can make it back home, get inside, shut the door and lean your back against it as you catch your breath, we are safe from the baying and howling outside. Inside, we were protected. Inside was sanctuary. Refuge.

And sometimes, if you think something long enough, regardless of the reality you start with, it can become true.

This house did become our safety. She took care of us when we could not. She provided calm when we couldn’t find it in ourselves. She held us together as our world spun out of control. Years later, the day before we were finally able to start the remodel that would fix serious issues like leaking and rotting siding and a recalled electrical panel that was itching for a fight, I put my hands against the wall in the living room and closed my eyes. “Thank you for hanging in there. Thank you for taking care of us, for providing us with a safe place to hide. We’ve got you now.”

Decadent edible rubies, there is no finer “welcome home” gift, Summer’s last bow as she prepares to exit the stage.

It changed my relationship with the house. Instead of an inanimate gathering of wood, sheetrock, plumbing, and electrical, the house became a living, sentient organism and it remains such to this day. The house and I exist in an energetic dialog, giving and taking, speaking and listening. Slammed doors deserve apologies. Wall dings from careless carrying need repair. Energy needs clearing. Acknowledgement of shelter is due. The work we do on the house has become our reasonable responsibility, a manifestation of care for this structure that has cared for us.

We came home from vacation a day early, deciding a full day of buffer between play and work would bring more peace than a last night and hasty morning’s exit. This morning, I sat outside with my book and the bumble bees and honey bees and hummingbirds and songbirds, Dorothy’s refrain on steady repeat in my consciousness: there’s no place like home.

As I watched the bees bumble through the lavender, I remembered that we are now in mid-August: plums! Luscious, sweet, and tart, these perfect gems adorn the plum tree like Summer ornaments. Decadent edible rubies, there is no finer “welcome home” gift, Summer’s last bow as she prepares to exit the stage. The yard borders on chaos as the plants and flowers thrive from months of the sun’s golden love. Holding the heavy globes in my hand, tasting the sweetness more divine than any candy, I can feel this house, this property communicating back to me, “welcome home; you were missed. Venture and play, but this is where you belong.”

Finding Sanctuary

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