The mention of the word “porch” can stir up a string of emotions in me.
My first thoughts go to the porch of my grandmother. We lived around the corner from her home for a number of years. She stood on that porch and watched me round the corner as I walked to school each day. I was petrified of dogs at the time and my mother would watch me walk to one corner and from there my grandmother would watch me walk to school. My eyes would see hers and she’d wave and I’d smile. It makes me choke up to this day.
I love the image of her standing on her porch in one of my favorite houses of all. It was my favorite because it was hers.
I spent many a hot summer day on my grandmother’s porch. It was a long cement porch that was the full width of her home. It had brick flower planters at it’s front instead of railings. I can see her so clearly as she would walk out her front door and onto her front porch. She’d have her apron on over her knee length housedress.
She would pick at her petunias. I now know it’s called deadheading, but back then I just remember her picking at them and then watering them with a watering can. They were always purple it seemed to me. Their vines would entangle each other and purple flowers abounded.
It was the kind of porch my sisters and cousins and I could sit on for hours and play Barbie’s. There was plenty of room for each Barbie house and all that goes with that.
Grandma’s porch was “livable”. We could decorate it with chalk. We were free to be creative.
Many an evening was spent on this porch. My grandfather would have his battery operated police radio tuned into to the local goings on. I happen to have that radio now. It sits in a cupboard in my basement, but I have it nonetheless.
My grandmother and I would sit either on her porch swing or in chairs beside my grandfather. I always made sure I sat in the middle of them. I didn’t want someone to sneak up in the dark and somehow kidnap me in the middle of our porch time. I guess the police radio could be a little scary at times to a five year old.
I can remember hearing about local robberies that were now calling the police to alert them. Too often it seemed to me that they were just down the street and a little too close for comfort.
I think at times I feel the same way today, 51 years later. I don’t really like listening to the news. It’s filled with murder and stealing and bad life decisions. I’d rather bury my head in my grandmother’s quilted blanket than face the “today” sometimes. But God desires that I open my eyes. It was okay as a five year old, but as an adult and a Christian woman, God wants me to be aware and praying. He desires for me to know His Word and His promises. He wants me praying for this family, my neighbors, my country and it’s leaders. I don’t need to fear, but I need to actively pray and make a difference.
“For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you.”
“Then Jesus told his disciples a parole to show them that they should always pray and not give up.”