Peace in Staring

Our breakfast nook has a huge French door that I completely hate. It’s drafty because the door is old and I want to change it. We’re not redoing the kitchen any time soon, so it’s something we’ve decided to live with for now.

As is the case with most things I hate or that drive me crazy, there is peace to be found, if I’m willing to stop and wait and watch.

This morning, the sun came out. It’s still pretty cold in our neck of the woods (below 30 degrees in the morning) but the birds were chirping and the sky looked super blue. And all of my kids sat at the breakfast table staring out that huge French door.

I couldn’t help but picture my paternal grandfather (since passed) who used to spend hours sitting in front of his living room windows, in a tan club chair, wearing a man’s white undershirt and slacks. He lived in the Catskills with my grandmother, on a 5 acre parcel of land where he liked to grow vegetables and invite friends to stay.

Much of my childhood, I can only picture the man either outside with a hat or inside, staring at the vast nature in front of him. There were no other houses, buildings, or people visible from his window. He could only see birds, deer, the occasional fox, and lots of butterflies.

This morning, my little family chewed its breakfast in silence. Every little person stared out the window and took in– who knows what. The road below us? The cars traveling to work and school? The birds skipping between branches? The brilliant sky? The swaying trees? The budding leaves on our maple trees?

The what is not so important as the why.

We stare because it is so peaceful. It’s so comforting. It’s so lovely. I hope you can start your day with the same kind of peace. This morning, I was thankful for the peace, the quiet, and the memory of other times when such peace was present: in the Catskills with an old man and his soft but enduring presence.

What brought you peace this week? Share the peace.