The Porch That Holds Me

Sunshine, Winnie, a little quiet… it’s everything I need.

There is a place I go almost every day.

It’s about twenty steps from my kitchen.

My back porch.

It isn’t grand... comfortable furniture, potted plants, hummingbird feeders, a little fountain trickling in the background. Beyond the railing, tall pine trees stretch toward an enormous blue sky.

The house protects this little space from the westerly winds, so even when it’s cool and breezy out front, back here it's warm and still.

I'm nestled in.

That’s the feeling.

And this spring, after sepsis and surgery turned my life upside down, this porch became part of my healing.

My body had been through a lot. There were days when my world became very small.

So I came out here.

I sat in the sunshine. I listened to the fountain. I watched hummingbirds hover in midair.

I prayed here. I cried here. I healed here.

I worked when I was strong enough. And sometimes, I did absolutely nothing.

Getting still and quiet isn't new to me. For years, I've practiced it through meditation, prayer, music... simply learning to be more present.

But lately, something feels deeper.

It's the feeling that when I am here, I don't need to be anywhere else.

I don't feel pulled toward the noise or pressured to jump back into the chaos. I don't feel like there's something out there I need to find or something I'm missing.

I don't need to measure the fullness of my life by what might be happening somewhere else.

I can choose this.

I can sink into the peace of being here.

And maybe that's what feels so profound:

Everything I need is right here.

So much of my life happens on this little porch. When the kids are home, Caroline plays her guitar here. JT stretches out after a long workout. Tom and I have ended countless days talking here about family, work and life. There have been glasses of wine with friends, Winnie at my feet, laughter and conversation.

And then there are the mornings when it's just me.

My coffee. The fountain. The trees. The quiet.

Somehow, it all belongs here.

I didn't set out to create a sanctuary. Somewhere along the way this little porch simply became one.

And that’s what I’m recognizing now: Not just how much I value this peace, but how much I want to protect it.

I am staying aware of what pulls me away from it, and choosing more carefully what I let in.

This morning, I’m writing these words from this very place. The fountain is trickling. Steam is rising from my coffee. The world is moving beyond me.

And I am exactly where I want to be.