Adventures in the Art of Dwelling

Dwell: To abide in a place with contentment and intentionality.

dwell: Consumed by a past sadness or pain. 
To daily battle against the past, that it might not become the present.

We are now shepherds. I don't feel prepared to lead little lambs, but they are here and they are ours. Living, breathing, beautiful creatures they stare at me with timid, yet curious expressions. Why sheep you ask? We have embarked on the adventure of small animal husbandry, in part, to Dwell. 

I'm so done dwelling. You know what I mean: the past always threatening to overtake the present. Do you face that each day? Your past decisions, losses, betrayals, and pains threatening you? How quickly the past tries to steal the promises and potential of today. Today, the sun is shining in all her glory. "Embrace me," she says, "Soak in the present and bask in His presence and warmth." But, the past lurks in the dark and tries to steal. Like a black night sky full of clouds, the past has no stars to guide the way. 

This mama is trying hard to leave the past behind. I want to Dwell where planted and embrace today. I want to be present, here and now. I want to create a nest where I've been planted, but so many days I fall short. Like the little bird I held in my lap yesterday, it's tempting to look into another's home and decide their nest is so much sweeter. Unfortunately, the land of discontent is not a great destination. Discontent is a window into disillusion. When I slam into discontent, I end up flat on my back, gasping for air with all my feathers a-ruffle. I am learning to Dwell in my own nest. I'm learning to create a contented nest in the forest.

How does one create a nest in the place God has asked you to Dwell when you're tempted to simply dwell? Stick by stick, we pick up what has blown in and blown down, and fluff our nest. We fill our home, twig by twig, with goodness and God's grace. Then? I'm learning to sing from the porch. I'm learning to invite those passing by into our abode. Invite fellow wanderers into your home. Invite them into your heart. Yes, your heart may be broken, but then again, it may expand.

 "A bruised reed He will not break." (Isaiah 42)

This beautiful bird house sat for so long. 

But now, someone's moved in, created a nest, and is singing.

As for the others in the nest? My husband Dwells carefully. He pondered for weeks what kind of fencing to install and he diligently answered the call. After long days, he yet humours his wife and supports her need to Dwell by lending a hand to bring about her desires. He is a Dwelling place in himself. He is a place children launch themselves upon and snuggle into. A ready shoulder and ear he gives freely. He is planted in the Word. He hears his sheep and answers them. He ministers to and guides his little flock. He Dwells by simply being present to us – in all our moments. 

The children? One child Dwells in deep and rich stories. She sits and reads for as many hours as we will permit. Emerging from her cocoon, her plans are often quite grand. She talks to the sheep and coaxes them with small handfuls of grain. I bet in time, she will woo them. The sheep know the voice of their shepherd and follow. The other child? He loves to run and chase. He dreams of the best way to catch the sheep and move them to other pastures. He, having helped his dad install the fence, is happy to instruct me on its usage. 10,000 volts fascinate him. He Dwells on every green hill he can run freely to - his imagination at his fingertips. 

"He who Dwells in the shelter of the Most High, will abide in the shadow of the Almighty." Psalm 91