I feel like we’ve been moving for a year. The life of a professional vagabond lost its charm when we started buying things like mattresses. Now it’s just painful, pinioned as I am by side tables and children and such. Staying put is part of growing up, arguably. So it may be time to send out some tentative roots. I just never thought it would be here. In Zion. So many of my people are here. And to be amidst one’s people, here in Zion, is to have the water close over one’s head. (I mean, not in a bad way. And only sometimes.)
I’ll miss the door knocker to our little rental. It wasn’t until I read the “as for me and my house” business that I realized how deep we were in it. Up to our knees, at least! Then it was revealed that this was the home a former Stake Patriarch had built for himself and his wife once their nest was empty, where he’d given over 800 blessings (in the room occupied by my son). And when I learned that little fact, I knew we were in it up to our waists. But I tell you what, there was a darn good feeling in that room. If you had asked me which room in the house had been the venue for almost a thousand patriarchal blessings, I would have picked that room with my eyes closed. I’m not kidding.
Now we’re home owners again. As for me and my house, we’re in it up to our necks.
forbid her name, deny her grace,
turn your back while they displace
the mother from her sacred space
and pull her down till every trace
of her is gone. and then erase
the record of her power in case
her daughters ask to see her face
and restore wisdom to her place.