Waking and looking up, I glimpse tropical pink flowers hanging from the bush outside my window. Every year of my life I’ve visited this house, stayed in this room, but this is the first time I remember seeing those flowers.
This has been the family home for forty-one years — many more than I’ve been visiting — and it’s always had a quality of foreverness for me. Come down the long grassy driveway between the pines, and you’re entering the land of Tennyson’s “Lotus Eaters:” “A land where all things always seem’d the same.”
But they don’t. The hall is lined with photos of babies who have long since left babyhood behind. The dogs which I persisted in regarding as the “new” dogs have passed on and been replaced by one which is truly new.
I’ve come here, year after year, from twelve different houses in eight different states, looking for the comforting sameness, and finding it less and less, learning that, even if my last name is set in bricks and cement outside the door of this house, this is no permanent haven. As there is nothing new under this hot Florida sun, there is also nothing forever.
So I turn from this to the God whom nothing can change, whose promise is that I shall lack nothing. He holds me, forever, and nothing — NOTHING, can snatch me from His hand, separate me from His love.
©2014 by Stacy Nott