Haven

            Haven is the word Diane used to describe my home.  That is exactly what I prayed for as I rearranged my living space last spring.

            My pocket Oxford dictionary defines haven as “a place of safety” or “a harbor or small port.”  Both describe the essence of this place. 

            Living here on my brother’s property—Casa Del Gato (house of the cat) as he calls it—has been a place of safety as well as a harbor of healing for me.  Natural beauty surrounds my cabin in the woods.  Within, my unstructured time is conducive to reflection and creativity.  I live in the coziness of a cabin with plenty of internal and external space in which to flourish.

            Isn’t healing all about growth in the end?  Once the weeping edges of deep wounds begin to knit together and once the salve of solitude and prayer soaks in, the soul sprouts into new life.  All the fretful energy spent to conceal the real and anesthetize the pain is transformed into a creativity that God can use to help along the healing in others.

            Last spring, as I shed my role of full-time caregiver for my mother and sought to create a new space for myself, I wanted it to reflect the peace God has gradually brought to my spirit in this place.  Refuge and sanctuary are two of the words that came to mind then.  Now I like Diane’s word best, but with an essential dimension included:  Holy Spirit Haven.  Not because of me, but because of what He has done.