The Spiritual Practice of Porch Sitting

I am a porch-sitter.  As a child, I perched waiting and watching on porch steps to see the long, black Cadillac of my friend’s parents come around the corner signaling she was home and could play.  I wilted into the porch swing at my grandparent’s house in the summer and helped snap green beans over the big steel bucket or ate blackberries until my fingers turned purple.  As a young adult, I hosted friends for cookouts and conversations on porches. 

I don’t need big, expansive, well-decorated porches to be pulled outside, though I won’t complain at all if that’s the option.  In one of my favorite writing memories, I holed up on a small balcony porch for several hours during a weekend away with Jerry while he played golf.  Just a couple of chairs, a little shade and the view.

Now, my porch at home calls me for coffee and a book or just a quiet minute. 

My parent’s porch is the place of so many laughs and stories and memories and tears.  A few weeks ago, William and I drove up to spend time with part of my family.  As is our post-dinner practice, we filled the rocking chairs on the porch, some with kids in our laps and rocked on the porch each evening. We visited through the sunset and rocked the nighttime sky into being.  The sun crept down turning the sky from blue to purple to black.  As cliché as it is, there is nothing like a big Texas sky.  I am a porch sitter. 

Porch sitting is a whisper away from a spiritual practice in my heart.  As my body slows, my eyes open to God’s glory surrounding each moment.  Maybe the painted sunset, maybe the connection through conversation, maybe worship through my written word, maybe just rest, a moment of Sabbath. 

The Spiritual Practice of Sitting on the Porch…

Blue sky as vast as the ocean, decorated with clouds as white as snow

Cool breezes ring the evening song in the wind chimes

Rocking chairs sway to the easy rhythm of conversation

Blue deepens to heather, the sun’s rays rim the clouds with golden edge

Laughter sings through the air on the wind

Memories long-forgotten waft stories to share

Heather deepens to mulberry, pinks and oranges radiate from the once white clouds

Cold drinks clink and sweet treats savored

Quiet stills life’s frantic pace

Mulberry deepens to black, clouds give way to innumerable pinpoint lights of the stars

There is something sacred about opening the back door and stepping outside.  Where do you go to slow enough to see God’s hand?  Is there a physical place that draws you to lean into His goodness?  I’d love to hear. 

From sunrise brilliance to sunset beauty, lift His praise from dawn to dusk!

Psalm 113:3

Hugs and Blessings, Bethany