Afternoon sunlight poured into my window as I heard the familiar opening of the front door. Feet shuffled across the travertine entryway and backpacks were quickly discarded in exchange for an anticipated afternoon snack.
I was busy working in the other room and called over my shoulder, “Hey guys, how was your day?” The responses from my sons were less than enthusiastic. A few grunts and a “fine” escaped their lips before the pantry was ransacked and they were off again.
There I remained, exactly as I was minutes before—still working, still in the other room. Still.
In that stillness a thought trickled through my mind: “I didn’t even look at them.” Those boys that I loved more than sleeping, eating and breathing and certainly more than my work, had come and gone without even a glance from me.
I started to think back on days, weeks and months. How often was I guilty of this disconnect? In a moment of embracing honesty, I had to admit this scenario happened far too often. How had I become so accustomed to distracted greetings? What would happen if I was facing them when they walked in the front door? What if I found their eyes with my eyes? What if they really thought I wanted to know about their day? That was the day I set my work aside. That was the day I decided to be still for them.
The next afternoon I quietly nestled into the coziest corner of my brown leather couch. The one facing the front door. No book in hand, no laundry pile, no work in front of me. Just me, on the couch—waiting. A feeling of anticipation crept into my heart. Then I heard the doorknob turn, their shuffling feet and the backpacks pile up.
I found their eyes and theirs found mine. There was something instinctive about the way they meandered over to the couch and plopped down. As if me sitting there, looking at them was a simple invitation to connect. It felt safe. I wasn’t doing anything or going anywhere. I was sitting there for them.
Many moments have passed since that day. That corner of my brown leather couch invites them…still.
– Heather Griffin
Heather Griffin lives nestled in the beautiful Rocky Mountains. She is captivated by God’s majestic creations . . . juicy summer peaches, hiking through crisp fall leaves and skiing the sun-kissed snow slopes with her husband and sons.