In the Shadow of Your Wings

Two weeks before Hurricane Katrina struck New Orleans and devastated the Louisiana and Mississippi gulf coast, my daughter Katie had, through a friend of a friend, located a small cabin in Lacombe, Louisiana, that had just come up for rent. I had been divorced a year at this time and was realizing that the family home was entirely too big for me to live in. Also, the home held entirely too many memories inside its walls. It was time to move on. Katie called me and said, “Come on Mom, just come and look.” I drove over and looked and fell in love. It was a very old and, not just small, but tiny cabin with about 450 square feet of living area. It was miles out of town, in the woods, on an old family home site. There were several acres filled with enormous oak trees and ancient azalea bushes. Purple iris and masses of purple wisteria grew close to the still occupied family home. I immediately gave the real estate agent the deposit check and first month’s rent. This was to be home for the next three and a half years. As the months went by, I felt a love for this place and much gratitude in my heart to God for blessing me with this cabin. The feelings of complete peace, healing and joy would sometimes turn to tears when I would pause and reflect on the complexities of life and the beauty and peace of my present home. Sitting on the rickety front porch late one evening while enjoying the peace and beauty of the place, I tried to put my feelings into words.

To All Who Live in the Little Cabin in the Woods

Sitting off an old dirt road, tucked away from time, far out of town, is a little cabin in the woods. Nestled under ancient trees. All painted white, with a green front porch, it warmly welcomes all who enter. The cabin, the woods bring joy and peace. Stepping off the front porch before dawn–no street lights to interfere– You can see God’s glorious purple night sky with millions of sparkling diamond stars The smell of the pine forest, The sound of a screech owl, My dogs investigate the smells left from all the nighttime creatures that have roamed our yard as we slept. A stormy, rainy day, a cold, foggy night, a warm, blue sky and sunny day are all equally glorious here. The wooden walls. The old brick fireplace, The creaking floor, The tiny kitchen, The baby birds chirping in my attic, All of this bestows contentment on everyone who spends time here. God placed joy in this cabin. He surrounded it with the contentment and peace of the forest. God made it as a place of healing. The little cabin in the woods is so much more than shelter–although that she freely gives. All who live here in this cabin in the woods are blessed.

“Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him . . .” (Psalm 37:7).

This is what God allowed me to do in this small piece of paradise. He allowed me to rest.

Blessings always come, even with Katrina. Hurricane Katrina devastated the home that I had lived in for twenty-four years. Only God knew that Katrina was coming and that I would soon need a new home. So, He provided me with one. Without Katrina, I would have never known this time of peace and solitude in the tiny old cabin. Soon after my divorce, two precious friends, Penny Fortenberry and Lynn Brandt, gave me priceless advice. It was: Do not enter into another relationship any time soon. Wait, get to know yourself. Almost three decades of being a wife and mother become who you think that you are–no, wait–who are you? I really did need to find out who I was. I needed to become comfortable living with Beth. God granted me these few years here to rest, to heal, and then to grow. God gave me time here to pray and to make plans for a future. This place really was a piece of heaven for me. The time spent living here was priceless. The tiny cabin quickly became my retreat, my piece of paradise. The cabin had one window air conditioning unit and no heater. Now, even in south Louisiana you need the ability to heat a home. I needed to improvise in this situation, and the gas oven in the kitchen worked as well as anything else. During the winter the drill was, when the alarm went off at 4 a.m., jump out of bed and turn the oven on 400 degrees. Now the dogs have been disturbed, and they must go outside. I throw on my house coat–turn on the porch light–snatch the door open–the dogs race out the door–scare the screech owl in the oak tree–the owl screeches–I shout (as though I didn’t know the owl was there)–the dogs jump in fright and then race out into the dark yard. The cold is shocking to us all. The dogs pee and all but one bolt back into the cabin. Taylor, the Great Dane, has other business to take care of. I must go back into the house, grab a flashlight, run outside and begin to search in the early morning blackness for a black Great Dane with a reflector collar on. By now the Dane has done his business and is hiding behind one of the great oaks, hoping to make his escape down the dirt road unnoticed by me. With the flashlight, I see the reflection of his collar, stomp my foot and scream out his name. Taylor’s shoulders and head drop. He has a “I can’t believe you found me” look on his face. With his head hanging low, he humbly and slowly comes toward me. Grabbing his collar, I drag him back into the house. With each step I take, I am fussing with him. It is freezing out here! Back in the cabin, I turn off the lights and make my way back into the bedroom, feeling for the bed in the dark–the other three dogs are already there–good, and the bed is still warm. Now do I try to muscle my way back under the covers, or do I open the oven door.