The Glory of the Common

       Davis dozed, his left arm hanging off the side of the couch, remote on his chest.  The faint, bluish light of the TV screen danced on his face, the sound was turned low. 

     It had been a typical Saturday of mowing and trimming the lawn, assorted chores around the homestead, and shopping with the family.  When he finally settled down to watch some football, he settled too far.  Now he was snoring.

     He woke himself up with a snort that was louder than the others, only to find his wife and children, seated around the open living room, all beginning to snicker as he finally opened his eyes.  It happened this way every week and they knew it was only a matter of time.   

     The family living room looked, well, lived in – blankets, pillows, and offspring littered the floor.  Some of the children read while others held growing interest in the football game, but all took time to laugh at Dad.  Davis’s wife sat in a fluffy armchair with the littlest one in her lap, allowing her to flip through the pages of a family hymnbook.  

     Davis was awake now and the sounds of Saturday afternoon were greeting him.  Upon first listen, the room was surprisingly quiet given the number occupying it.  Yet, with a keen ear one would hear the voice of Mom softly singing into the ear of her toddler, one child whispering the words of a book to his self, and another groaning as his team committed another turnover.  In quite another way, then, the quiet of the room was deafening, speaking volumes.

     Surveying the room, Davis noticed the old fireplace that would flicker with heat and flame in a few short months.  He looked at the bookcase filled and overflowing with classics worn with use, papers, photo albums, and knickknacks (mostly crafts made by the little ones) scattered along its edges.  Then, he looked over the carpet, not nearly as beautiful and lush as it once was, and at the once-proud furniture now showing its age.  It used to bother him, but he could now say the same about himself.           

     He had to admit that, while it was a cozy and somewhat handsome room, it was quite simple.  There was, to be direct, nothing fantastic about it. 

     The TV was small, by modern standards, their cable lacked hundreds of channels that were reportedly essential (as advertised), and no newcomer could possibly mistake them for being “tech-savvy.”  In fact, the TV’s sound had no chance of surrounding them.

     The oldest two children, a boy and a girl, deciding the afternoon should not be spent inside, scrambled outside and could now be heard in shouts and calls between themselves and the dog out back. 

     Things were louder now and any thought of further napping was long gone.  His muscles still ached a bit from the week’s labors and another fifteen minutes of snoring would have done him well. 

     Davis perused the room once more with its growing noise, maturing furniture, and carpet scattered with the evidence of children.  Smiling, he concluded that there was not a speck of him that would wish to be elsewhere.             

Psalm 128

 P.S. Haiku:

The beauty of life

The glory of the common

Blessed of the Triune


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