Some of them I didn’t even have to make

When I woke up this morning, I found myself in a most extraordinary situation.

Someone – not me – had spread a glorious thick carpet under my bed, so that when I swung my feet over the edge, my toes sank deep into its silvery luxury. Extraordinary.

Beside my bed, I found two pieces of shocking technology, one a little device that monitors my heart and stores the data of all my heartbeats for a whole month, and then sends them on command to a clinic in Erie. (How? It baffles my mind. Not for generations of men was this possible.) The other, a device that connects me to any human, anywhere in the world, who owns a similar device. There were messages on it, waiting for me, from people I will not see today, who love me and wish me well.

I opened a drawer or two and found a whole wardrobe of clothes that fit me just right. Some of them I didn’t even have to make. They were radiant in all the colors, textured, fine. Warm sweaters. Thick socks. Glorious dresses, including some of my very favorites.

In a little room nearby, I found endless hot water, at the turn of a knob. Cold water too. Soft towels, bright lights, and a smooth mirror to show me what humans wondered about for centuries: the clear sight of my own face and person.

The air in my house was warm, an embrace of richness while the earth outside shivered in the morning. Inside, the floors were firm and level, the rooms just so, the doors handmade, the woodwork old and rich, crafted by people dead these many years. They may have harvested the trees from their own property, and worked with their fingers to make these walls strong and beautiful enough to last for two hundred years, far past their time here.

Downstairs, the wonders continued. In the kitchen was a whole refrigerator full of delights – milk for breakfast, good yogurt, new eggs from our own chickens, and drawers filled with tasty produce that cannot possibly be grown in my area at this time of year, from red tomatoes to glowing oranges. All kept cold and fresh, waiting for me.

Plates and bowls smooth and round, crafted not to break. A sturdy table. The smell of coffee, reaped thousands of miles away and served up hot, here. Rows and rows of books, the wisdom and humor of thousands of years, hundreds of humans. Beautiful art on my walls, my furniture tops, my refrigerator – some made by my children, some by dear friends, and some by people I will never meet. My whole house a feast for the senses.

And there were PEOPLE. You wouldn’t believe the beautiful faces I saw, gathered there. Two growing boys, long-legged and fighting and smiling – actually smiling! – at their mom. Two pretty girls, perched on bar stools, ready for a new day. Their hair was long and shining, their pajamas warm. These four survived all their sicknesses, thanks to the mercy of Christ and the marvels of modern medicine, and were spared many more. They reached for what they needed, walked around on the checked floor. All the parts of their bodies worked. They spoke to me and heard my words and their eyes sparkled. Here is this miracle, that we can form sounds that make meaning, that our hearts connect.

I saw a man there too, really a lot more handsome than I remembered, with that moustache I love and the strong shoulders. He stood up to hold me close like he does every morning, and asked, How are you doing? with his eyes on mine.

I
start
every
single
day
with
every
single
thing
I
need
for
my
comfort
and
wellbeing.

Every thing.

I am sheltered within a house whose every corner holds treasures that cry out to me YOU ARE LOVED. YOU ARE LOVED YOU ARE LOVED YOU ARE LOVED.

Just because I am used to it doesn’t mean it isn’t breathtaking.

Happy Thanksgiving from my family to yours. What did you see when you got up this morning?