🌿 Sunday Reflection — The Joys and the Puddles

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”
 — Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

One evening this week, I was downstairs keeping Dennis company as he recovered from surgery. Zach had been out with friends and had just come home. It was late, and we were all tired.

Then I discovered a large puddle of water on the basement floor.

After a little investigating, I opened the upright freezer and realized the door wasn’t closing tightly. Things had begun to defrost. I was relieved we weren’t dealing with a broken pipe, but it was still one more thing to figure out before bedtime.

This house has had more than its share of puddles. We’ve dealt with sewer backups, water seeping in from saturated ground, roof and attic ventilation problems, and peeling paint inside. Over the years, we’ve discovered things we never knew we needed to learn—and somehow, together, we’ve worked our way through them.

That evening brought Dickens’s words to mind. There was Dennis, home and healing, and all of us together under our roof. There was also water on the floor.

Both were part of the same evening.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about my daughter, Olivia, newly married and making a home with her husband. There is such sweetness in beginning: decorating rooms, planting a garden, cooking meals, and imagining the life those walls will hold.

Watching her brings back memories of our own beginning, before we knew all that a home and a marriage would ask of us.

You begin with dreams. Along the way, you learn about repairs, unexpected expenses, unexpected health issues, tired evenings, and changing plans. You also learn how much it means to have someone beside you, helping figure out what to do next.

“Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.”
 — Galatians 6:2, KJV

I find such tenderness in that little verse. Sometimes carrying one another’s burdens means sitting beside someone as they heal. Sometimes it means listening patiently. And sometimes it means coming downstairs when someone calls because there’s water on the floor.

My wish for Olivia and her husband is a home filled with laughter, kindness, good meals, and beautiful memories. And when something needs tending, I hope they find comfort in each other—and can sometimes laugh about it afterward.

After all these years, I look around our house and see more than the things we’ve had to fix. I see the life we’ve lived here, the people I love, and so much to thank God for.

There have been so many tired evenings—health worries, house problems, and other burdens we never could have anticipated when we began. Yet tonight, beneath all the weariness, there was something beautiful to remember:

After all these years, we have faced it together.

And for that, I am grateful.

Even on an evening with a puddle.

Helene 😊
Rosemary Thyme 🌿
Fall In Love With Home Again 💛🏡
RosemaryThymeHome.com

A Time to Mourn — Remembering November 22, 1963

“A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.”
— Ecclesiastes 3:4

There are moments in history that become woven into the memories of a family.

I was only four years old when President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in November of 1963. I was far too young to understand politics, or even to fully understand what had happened. But I understood that something was terribly wrong.

I remember my parents becoming very emotional over President Kennedy’s death. I remember my sisters crying as we watched the funeral on television. And even as a little girl, I could feel the sadness that seemed to have settled over our home and across the entire country.

There was another reason our family watched that funeral so closely.

My brother was attending the United States Naval Academy at Annapolis at the time, and as the naval midshipmen appeared during the funeral ceremonies, my sisters and I searched the television screen, hoping we might catch a glimpse of him among them.

So intertwined with my memory of a nation mourning its president is this very ordinary family memory: sisters sitting together, watching television, grieving with their parents, and looking through rows of young men in uniform for their brother.

All these years later, I am struck by how much children notice.

We may not understand the words being spoken around us. We may not understand history, politics, tragedy, or death. But we understand the faces of the people we love. We notice when our mother cries. We notice when our father grows quiet. We know when the world inside our home suddenly feels different.

Scripture reminds us that life contains many seasons.

There is a time to laugh and a time to weep. There is a time to celebrate and a time to mourn.

Faith does not ask us to pretend that sorrow does not exist. It gives us a place to carry it.

And perhaps that is one reason certain memories remain with us for a lifetime. They remind us not only of what happened, but of who stood beside us when it happened.

Today, as I remember November 1963, I remember President Kennedy and a nation stunned by tragedy.

But I also remember my family.

I remember my parents.

I remember my sisters’ tears.

I remember searching the television screen for my brother.

And I remember a four-year-old little girl who could not possibly understand everything she was witnessing, but somehow understood that it mattered.

Our homes hold these memories for us.

The joyful ones.

The painful ones.

The ordinary ones.

And together, they become part of the story of a family.

There is indeed a time to mourn. And there is also a time to remember.

🌿 Helene
Rosemary Thyme 🌿😊
Fall in Love with Home Again 💛🏠