I once loved a man who gave me (literally) a home with a white picket fence and an arbor pretty much like this one. The relationship ended cruelly and horribly, and I lost a lot of "things". The tangible "things" that I lost - for the most part - weren't that big of a deal. You can always buy more "things", and to be honest, I want *less* "things" in my life now.
The relationship ended while we were living at a 2nd home; this past weekend, I was at that residence moving the last of some garden/yard things I wanted to keep when I remembered that the arbor came with us when we moved here.
It was laying on the ground by a shed. It was cracked (it was made of real wood) and the weather of the past 2 years had turned the white paint (how carefully I painted that thing to keep it looking beautiful)gray and mottled. The gate was broken off at a hinge, and it looked so sad and forlorn. I stood and stared at it for a long time, and I thought of the dreams and wishes it had stood guard over, and how many times that gate swung open to let pass dogs and family and flowers and mundane things like groceries and mail. I cried over that arbor - and before I left it there, I carefully closed the gate one last time - being careful not to break the tenuous hold of the rusting hinges.
They say when God closes one door, another opens. Maybe my closing that gate will allow me to walk through when that other door opens.
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