Rocking Chair Compassion
The lost Art of Porch-Sitting.
These aren’t the chairs and this isn’t the porch but it is symbolic of the lime-green chairs that appeared on my neighbor's porch last month. She did not have a potted plant in front of her doorway—AI images often give themselves away. “Come on in—don’t mind the potted plant. Just climb over it.”
Really?
What did happen was that, as I walked home from my yoga class, my neighbor waved hello. That gave me an opportunity to thank her family for the delicious soup they made for us. It was so good!
I complimented the new rocking chairs and she asked me to come sit for a bit. “Let me drop off my yoga stuff and grab the bowls from the soup, I will be right back. I have some eggs for you.”
It was a beautiful day—the kind of day that makes you think spring has arrived before it actually does. She asked about Scott and then had to retrieve Kleenex for me. I will need to go by and let her know that we now have an appointment with a hepatologist at the University of Washington Medical Center in two weeks. But on that day, I was discouraged by the lack of progress.
I am not sure how long we talked. She and her family bought the house last summer and this conversation was far more than a neighborly wave—it was friendship. We agreed that I would come sit in the green rocking chairs on another warm day and we would share a conversation over coffee and cookies.
Before I left, she told me a story that had given her hope and then said, “I want to lend you a book that was helpful to me in a difficult time.” It is a collection of short stories and is now sitting on my nightstand. As I read bits of it, I am reminded of hope—and of the compassion I felt that day.
It was a day when I was reminded of what life in America was meant to be—when people sat on each other’s porches and talked. Where people cared for others when their lives took an unexpected turn. When politics felt less overwhelming and wasn’t mentioned. When people did all they could to give each other hope.
Beautifully told…my porch is my sanctuary. Some of my fondest memories are on a country front porch. It would do a lot to heal more people of life’s heartache and struggles if we had more front porch sittin’ again.
When people sat and talked on the back porch while watching chickens and enjoying the dog and laughing about black walnuts, cult leaders, and other important topics…. The best way to finish our time in Washington! Thank you.
I love this time with your neighbor for you! I love the way God is with us through others who are willing to be His hands and feet in our little worlds.
And you have me thinking about finding some rocking chairs…. 💚💚💚