My Sanctuary

Over the last few years, my backyard has become my sanctuary.

It has been a long haul to get to that statement. In 2001, my family begged and pleaded with me to buy this home. It is a brick rambler with just shy of an acre of land. It is loaded with fruit trees, berries, grapes, vegetable gardens, flower beds, and lots of lawn. When I was introduced to it, I only saw work.  I saw weeding.  Lots of weeding. I hate weeding.

I balked but was promised all I would have to do is mow if I agreed to the move.  I said, “Fine, but I get a riding lawnmower.”

I was getting a riding lawnmower. They were getting weeds.

We loved to share the home and yard with family and friends. The dirt driveway was paved and a basketball hoop was set up. A swimming pool graced the backyard in the summer. We hosted parties, the children felt comfortable inviting their friends over to play, we would often host Christmas and Thanksgiving dinners for family members. When my step-mom died, our home became a gathering place for our large, extended family, including one evening when we hosted 50 people for dinner. The church praise band practiced here. Sometimes I had friends over for a game night. A bridal shower was held here.

I had great fun setting up croquet courses that featured water hazards and jumps — including one that went through a tire swing.

Fast forward several years. Life turned upside down in 2014.  That August I lost my job of 20 years, and on November 15, 2015, my wife and I started to live apart.

Soon after the separation, I would often walk the acre. With the dog nearby, watching my every move, I would cry out. Rivers of tears poured down my cheeks, and I would gasp for air, crying out in despair. 

What was once a home bursting at the seams with family and friends, was now so utterly silent. It was just me and the dog. My worst nightmare turned into a horrible reality.  

My daughter’s dog — who I thought for years was the most stupid, obnoxious dog, would soon become a gift from God.  But that is the next story.

Early on I had no interest in keeping the home. It is just too big, too much for one person to maintain. I am certainly not a gardener.  I am, for the most part, not able to tell the difference between a weed and anything else.  But I also knew that the house would haunt me with all the great memories experienced here. I would be alone in those memories and that was terrifying to me.

Over time, though, that changed. When I was feeling especially low, I often walked into the backyard.  I discovered a wonderful peace there. Even in the cool, wet winter, I’d stop with the raspberries to my right, look up into the sky, close my eyes, and take a deep breath. The air filled my lungs and I felt a bit more at peace. The fresh air seemed to wash away a bit of the sadness and dread. It was a few minutes of peace.

Months later as spring approached, the yard came back to life again. The tulips purchased in Amsterdam were poking out of the ground. Daffodils began to flower. Eventually, all of the fruit trees turned green and began to bud. I felt somewhat stronger as I continued in my routine of strolling by the berries and the trees. I felt the weight on my shoulders lift a little. This was where I would talk to God.  This was also where I would scream at Him, sometimes using language that, well, God does not endorse but He certainly understood why they came out of my mouth.

There was also a homemade bench that sat at the base of a tall fir. I’d often pause there and look beyond the grass, past the plum trees, over the grapes and flower garden, and all the way to the house. Gratitude swept through me, and despite my grief, I felt very blessed by God. Maybe I even smiled. This was a great gift. My life was in turmoil, but it was obvious that God was telling me to stay put.

I felt I could breathe when I’d walk the acre. I soon knew, I just knew I could not leave here.  This was my quiet place.  This was where I would be restored.  This was my sanctuary.