A Good Home

May 06, 2021

A Good Home

Sunrise light awakened me this morning washing my childhood bedroom walls an orangey, pinkish hue. My first thought was how many times have I done this… met a new day from this bed from which I now sit in and type? The sun comes over the pond, its arms pushing through pine trees, one very large magnolia tree, over the patch of azaleas and right into my upstairs window. This particular day, reaching me with an invitation to remember and be grateful.

I’ve written about home before… this home, my home as a Sanders… but as I realize these days, waking up in this bed, looking out this window won’t go on forever, sentiment overtakes, and I write.

Even though they aren’t the most admired tree, I will always love pines. My hometown was officially nicknamed, “The Millions Pines City”. If I were an amazing writer, I’d stop and research the history of this but coffee will be brewing soon downstairs and what girl has time for research when her daddy is waiting to have a cup with her? Pine trees—they feel like home and having lived in North Texas the last 28 years of my life, they are never lost on me if we are going through an area thick with them. Throw a “tank” in their midst and I can imagine home.

Besides the one outside my window, we have a few more magnolia trees on our property—the largest one is back in the woods no one ever sees. My mom and I had one big adventure going to get cuttings off of it one Christmas. We basically tried to jump a creek and broke the axle on the truck, but we came back- on foot- with enough magnolia clippings to decorate the whole town. And the tree was no worse for wear, but the truck was.

The azalea patch just below my window was the backdrop of almost every Easter picture—those short-lived hot pink blooms or the Japanese maple in the courtyard-- my dad and brother in suits and my mom and me in something new. Because of this annual picture, I know that Easter was never rained out.

The view from my window. The memories in this house. This is a good home.

Christmases, birthdays, daily life with my family of four—the belly laughter, knock down drag outs with Blake, homework in front of the TV, sharing the phone- or rather, NOT sharing the phone, dirt bike escapades and crashes, fights for TV control, cane pole fishing, Atari, weekday dinner in the breakfast room that, as we got older, sometimes carried us straight to bedtime, missing Blake in his spot when he left for college, loving not having to share the phone with him but missing him and his antics, his friendship every day, marriages made and celebrated right here in the yard, meals that satisfied much more than just our hunger {and they certainly did that in the most delicious way}, multi-generational meals- many with both sets of grandparents around our dining room table, new members of our family embraced—by marriage, birth, and adoption, and so many parties—family friends, relatives, youth groups, drugstore family-- many of those same people filling our home, caring for us in tangible and intangible ways when we lost momma.

Maybe one of the biggest blessings is that the memories don’t stop there. Goodness, we miss her. Every day we miss her and anytime we are together, the hole is large. Not a gaping wound anymore but a very large hole and her absence is palpable. Momma easily slips in and out of all of our conversations not only because we miss her, but because her life is woven so tightly into all of ours. Her influence is all over us and in us. By God’s grace, memories to treasure are still remembered and still being made. Our family isn’t perfect {and Blake would argue that he’s not the problem} but we do love each other and genuinely enjoy one other’s company. Each new family member added has only compounded the richness and the fun we already experience. I can imagine there have been times when my daddy has been overwhelmed by the goodness of God even with the hardest thing in his life so far in his rear-view mirror. I have my own moments of being overwhelmed when I think about my family. To come back here, to see my dad thriving with old friends and new {making fishing reservations for 2023!!}, to see the younger ones all making home and life here, to come here and sit around a big table over an amazing meal and just sit back and listen to them all, my heart sometimes wants to explode. Full heart. A very full heart.

Today at church, four generations will be represented as my nephew’s daughter, Landry Kate, will be dedicated in our small Baptist church. My daddy’s great granddaughter—dedicated in the church he and mom joined when they moved here in 1972, in the church our weddings and funerals have taken place. This is where it all begins…and ends. With Him. RJ and Megan will commit to raising little Landry Kate in the ways of the Lord, setting an example in their own lives of what it means to follow Christ. Everything else for Landry Kate depends on that foundation.

The sun is fully up now. The sky, a normal blue. I get to wake up here again tomorrow—and I’ll do it gratefully while I take in whatever color sunrise He chooses. For now, I’d best get downstairs if I want that coffee with Daddy because soon, it will be time to leave for Sunday School. And we don’t want to be late for that.

He will be the sure foundation for your times, a rich store of salvation and wisdom and knowledge; the fear of the Lord is the key to this treasure. Isaiah 33:6