Beyond a Rope

“Maybe that’s why I’m still really tied to this place.” – John Wright

 

Beyond a Rope

 

“I was here when my Dad built every part of this house.”  John said to me as we stood in front of his childhood home.  “My dad would tie a rope around my waist and then to the chimney, so I could be on the roof with him as he installed the shingles!  Maybe that’s why I’m still really tied to this place!” 

 

John Wright’s parents have passed on now and John doesn’t live in the same city as his family home.  One would never know it!

 

The first thing I noticed, before we even entered the home, was the perfectly manicured front yard.  John lovingly keeps the grass trimmed and the flower beds filled with flowers.  There wasn’t one weed within sight of my eyes! 

 

The exterior of the home has the same similar, look of love.  It has fresh, bright, white paint on the outer walls, trimmed with an understated green.  It’s a nice contrast to the sleek, varied brown asphalt shingles that top its warm, inviting appearance.  It was all woven together to welcome us inside.

 

We entered the home through the conservatory, at the building’s rear.  Once inside, we stopped to admire the view of the pared yard and its expansive garden beyond the grass.  My eyes devoured the landscape right up to the Oquirrh Mountains to the east.

 

“I installed new up-down blinds, so we could enjoy the views and still have privacy.”  John said was we left the conservatory and sauntered into the kitchen and living area.  His eyes sparkled as we walked and talked.

 

John’s words filled the rooms with more than just sound.  It was as if the people and events he described materialized before my eyes.  Not as frightening ghosts from the past, but as fragments of love woven carefully, piece by piece over many years.

 

At the end of our time in John’s place, I was able to see the individual strands of those love-woven-pieces in his face and eyes.

 

“I was here when my Dad built this house.”  John said to me as we stood in front of the home of his youth.  “My dad would tie a rope around my waist and then to the chimney so I could be on the roof with him as he installed the shingles!  Maybe that’s why I’m still really tied to this place!”

 

No, John’s waist isn’t still figuratively attached to a rope, on the roof, to that chimney, connecting him to this home, this place.  Love-woven-pieces of enduring personal relationship have connected him, nourishing his heart forever.

 

Such ties of love go well beyond the strength of any rope!  What pieces are you weaving?