Rach's Ramblings

Thoughts from another world

Five spend some time apart


I have been sleeping in my pink room this week. Back at the farm, second door down the passage; a room that is exactly as I left it. Samantha my rag doll sits propped on my bed, laminated posters of the railway children and dried roses hang on the walls and on the dresser are delicate jewelry boxes with forgotten treasures (including every tooth I ever lost!) It is a room so full of nostalgia that I am sometimes overwhelmed. I wake in the night to hear the same glass bells hanging from the slanting roof gently moving in the breeze that comes in through the window and I see the glow of the luminescent stars that I so excitedly placed there still shining on the walls. It’s like my childhood and girlhood has paused here and still lingers, and I am lost in remembered dreams and plans and hopes.
For a week now I have slept in my single bed under my pink floral doona and for a space in time I have not felt like a mother or wife. Of course that is what I always am, but for this time I have been a child again. I have been fed and mothered as I have recovered from surgery and I have not done a single useful thing for an entire week. I have not wiped a child’s bottom, I have not answered a child’s questions, I have not met someone else’s need. And it has felt…strange.
Added to this my drug addled brain and I have not even been able to think complete thoughts, or pray meaningful prayers or even speak intelligent sentences. And in the small hours of the night, when my body decided to remain on Indian time, I have read the books from my childhood. The bookshelf in my room has once more been my solace, and last night I found a peace in all this strangeness.
I had been reading some of my Patricia St John favorites and had then been trying to pray, and my prayers were somehow the prayers of a child in a child’s room. Frustrated, I kept trying to make things more complex but complexity would not come. The books I had been reading were about children finding faith in the midst of struggles and it was faith that demanded no theology or complexity or answers to every question. It was light in a dark place, peace in a storm, trust for provision and just simple faith in Jesus.
I had this vision of a rose in Mum’s garden. So extravagantly beautiful just as it is. I could examine it and study it and learn more of how it works, and in some ways that would enhance the beauty. But there is still such breathtaking joy in just the simple wonder of the flower and its scent and what it brings to a garden of flowers. Faith is like that rose. It doesn’t need all the trappings of study and knowledge to cause one to stop in awe. It is what it is through the simple, unquestioning trust- faith like a child. I am sometimes so overwhelmed by the complexities of faith, of life, of adulthood. Sitting in my pink room, surrounded by the innocence of my childhood and rendered useless in terms of my usual endeavors, I am bought back to my childlike faith and encouraged to begin at the beginning. There is nothing wrong with simplicity and my Saviour is one who welcomed the simple and the children who came to him.
And so, I will rest, I will trust, I will remember and then look forward to the life that awaits outside my pink room.