Dust? What Dust?
by Eve Thornton
03/02/2006
The darkness had settled in again. How long had it been since I had actually seen a warm ray of sunshine outside the cabin window, filtering through this confounded dust? Three days, maybe four now? I�d lost track. I picked up a discarded piece of cloth from the chalky debris on the kitchen counter and walked slowly toward the window, snapping the dust-laden cloth briskly in the air, trying to remove the excess of its clinging residue before wiping off its gloom from the window.
�Sarah Elizabeth Whiting��, I thought to myself, as I peered, annoyed, out of the grimy pane � �why had you even agreed to spend a few days alone here?� The answer came back to me almost before I�d finished my thought. Because of Mother. She�d been so concerned that I hadn�t taken time to myself for such a long time, that she suggested getting away for a few days here at the family cabin. Its surroundings and quiet seclusion had always been a source of joy to me as a youngster. Climbing the trees, hours spent riding my pony �Buddy� through the maze of old trails bordering the north section of our east Texas landscape, laying in the thick green grass � pretending to speak to the animals like �Dr. Doolittle�. That memory made me smile. I hadn�t thought of my youthful explorings for many years.
Then my eyes rested again upon the dust. �Where, in God�s name, did all this dust come from?� I remembered the old saw mill about five miles to the south. Maybe that old mill had finally exploded and spewed these infernal particles of silt throughout the region and the wind had carried it in the air, covering the cabin. Who knew? Fatigue from the eight hour drive had kept me from leaving that first evening. I�d collapsed between the soft, flannel sheets on my old bed. It was the best night�s sleep I could remember in a very long time. �It�s so peaceful here�, I thought, just before drifting off to sleep�.
The following morning, I awakened with every intention of hopping into my jeep and heading back home to my studio in the city. Instead, I grabbed the camera from my backpack and began snapping photos of everything around me. Outside, inside, the dusty sky, the gray soot laying placidly on the roof of the cabin, everything. Being a freelance photographer kept me busy. I loved being able to pick up my camera and capture �life� through its lenses. Lots of traveling, which I also loved, but many lonely nights. I was 33 years old, unmarried, and uncommitted. �Maybe God had simply not intended that I marry.� I absently thought out loud. God. I looked nostalgically around, and once again, memories flooded my mind.
I saw my dear Christian parents sitting at the old knotty pine kitchen table. Mother and I had picked fresh vegetables from the garden that day, and along with the fried chicken and steaming hot, homemade rolls we were about to enjoy, I�d asked them if I could ask the blessing on our food. What a child-like exuberance and sincere joy I had had ... many years ago. What had happened, when did I forget? The tears came then. A perpetual torrent of tears, streaming down my cheeks so quickly that I thought I�d lose my breath. Tears bottled up inside me all these years ... and then, He came.
I�ll go home tomorrow, but today I will continue to bask in the presence and love of my God. He has given me a second chance, and I�ll never again forget this time I�ve spent with Him. Yes, I�ll go back tomorrow, to a life renewed with the vitality, enthusiasm and inner peace that once again courses through my heart, mind and spirit. �Thank you my Lord ... Forgiver of sins and Restorer of souls!�
I could not have known, that at that very same moment in time, there were two dear, saintly, gray-haired parents standing upright from their kneeling position on the floor.
The next evening, before actually looking at them myself, a new 'me' removed the newly-developed pictures and handed them to my parents. I�m excited to share the photographs I took of the snowy dust that had invaded my five day refuge in that wooded sanctuary. They look intently through the dozen photos, then, questioningly, turn to me. �Sarah, honey, you�ve told us about the dust, but, ... What dust?� I walked over and picked up the photos, slowly fingering through them one-by-one �
Tall, stately pine trees tower into the creamy blue sky, and lush green grass completes the color-perfect scenery. A tranquil glow surrounds the little log cabin as it shines brightly in the sunlight, and � not a speck of dust anywhere!