The House Purrs

We threw a party here for my dad this week. It was a big deal and we had lots to celebrate. We rearranged furniture, cleaned, cooked, blew up balloons, wrote speeches and gave the dogs bones to gnaw on so that they wouldn’t ruin everything.

I tidied all the little ones’ cupboards too. It was very unlikely anyone would open them up to inspect, but I felt that if those cupboards were in order, all the exposed areas of our home would flow better too. Is that dysfunctional of me, I’m not sure? Whether it matters or not, the thought that comes to me is that we can’t be putting on a show for the public if our private lives are in tatters. When it comes to being authentic, we use much less energy if the standards are the same across the board – both when we are seen and when we are alone.

Flowers filled vases, doors long locked were flung open wide and in no time at all, a stream of family and friends filled the spaces. There was laughter, there were tears. Hugs and kisses, “good to see you!” Little Ones played and the Oldies reminisced, walking sticks and crutches tucked beside chairs. We ate and drank and we were merry.

When the last guests had driven away down the drive we began to tidy up and put things away. Grateful hearts, happy sighs. I shut and locked up those doors that the breeze and sunshine had flowed through all day, and I cannot explain it any other way than to say the house was purring.

Of course, houses are not alive, they don’t breath and cannot purr; but when love and laughter, honouring and blessing, peace and joy and celebration are outworked in a space, it’s like the unseen spider webs get swept away. The shadows grow shorter and disappear. The atmosphere lightens and the flow of good vibes is like a river in flood.

If this house was a cat, she was a very full, happy cat at the end of party day; curled up on a rug, content.