Small home where God dwells. Plants and a worn Bible grace the antique desk beside the bed. Two chairs sit in the bedroom. This room is a sanctuary; peace washes over me as I walk through the bedroom door.
We have a small table in the tiny kitchen where we take our meals. The countertop is big enough to shape loaves of bread and to roll out a pie crust. (However, I don’t feel peaceful rolling out pie dough, so that rarely happens.) The one window in the tiny kitchen looks into the tiny kitchens of other apartments.
Just now, my sewing machine sits on the dining table with an unfinished dress beside it. That room is a dining room, living room, spare bedroom, and sewing room. It’s been a church room. So many memories with so many people have been made in that room.
I’m glad we have a little foyer. The cupboard from Coca who died is there along with the great-grandpa bench from a sod house, my grandma’s sewing rocker, and the Bible from Laurence’s grandpa Dyck. The quilt with the New York skyline that Jennifer Messian made for me when I broke my leg is on the rocker. A quilt from Laurence’s mother is on the bench. My wedding china is in the cupboard. My favorite books are in the built-in bookcase.
We also have a tiny bathroom with a maroon bathtub. A metal hamper and medicine cabinet attached to the wall were put there when this building was built in 1938.
We are content with small.
And with neighbors on the other side of the wall. As I type, I hear their laughter. May your mouth be filled with laughter. (Psalm 126) Berniece
An Ordinary Life 