Enjoying the details that just don't seem to fit here anymore.

In all the harried glancing about for houses, apartments, duplexes, and what have you (for Daniel’s Move to the South), I forgot that one side of the splendid little duplex up on the hill from The Valley is available. So while standing in the crowded lobby of Ruby Tuesday’s on Friday night, I made an appointment to meet the landlord.

And around 11:30 on Saturday morning, I drove up the hill and parked my car at the duplex. The landlord was pleasant enough (he seems to be a Real Chatter though) as he took me on a tour.

I think it hit me when I began walking up the blue-carpeted stairs from the garage. I stopped for a minute and I heard him behind me, “Is something wrong?”

As we reached the landing, I turned to him and began to share the story. And surprisingly, I almost couldn’t keep from crying.

“My dad and a friend built this duplex many years ago, I’ve had friends who lived on both sides, my cousins are currently living next door, and I lived here for two years as our home was built.” I spit it out quickly, and he laughed with me as we realized that I certainly didn’t need a tour to discover the floor plan.

But what I couldn’t whisper to him was that the memories were overwhelming.

The late summer of ’93, attempting to help mom unload groceries from the car, walking up that blue-carpeted stairwell. Hearing the phone ring. And in one short moment, my world changed. Mom left to go to the hospital while I put up the soup cans. And as my Papa slipped out of this world, I was happy and carefree. It took many years to realize that I didn’t need to feel guilty for having the music turned up loudly and singing at the top of my lungs while Kevin was banging on the front door.

And the night where we ate supper around the board game. And because I did tend to get hyper and a little too playful while playing games, “Jennifer, stop being silly because you are going to get choked.” His comment began a Horrid little game of copycat in which I repeated everything my mom said, even while choking. Mom and I found it to be quite hilarious but obviously, he didn’t.

I remember having Hannah, Heather and Emily over one night at the duplex and we all piled into my bed. At some point during the night, I woke up and re-fluffed my pillow and then realized that Emily wasn’t in the bed. I got up and rambled through the living room, kitchen, checked the bathroom, and suddenly panicked. I woke Hannah and Heather and we began the Massive Search. It wasn’t until we glanced back into my bedroom that we saw her foot sticking out from underneath my bed.

And when we began packing the boxes for the move to the New House, I remember my mom finding my old (lovable, cuddly, wonderful) Pooh bear. And because he had been stored in the damp garage, next to old yucky things, we found a bit of mold on him. Mom decided that obviously, he was going to have to be thrown away and I became quite upset. We both argued and fussed about it for a while and she ended up giving him to me with the understanding that he would have to have “surgery.” Well, knowing my frustration level, I’m not surprised that in an attempt to make her mad, I raised the window in the living room and sent my Pooh bear sailing through the air into the back of my dad’s truck (where the trash was waiting).

So, I have no idea what the next few weeks will hold. Each little place I look at is adorable (especially the little stone cottage behind 200 Russell) but I’m trying to remember that there is a bigger plan here and that the Doors will open when they need to be opened.

And, if the Duplex on the hill is The Place, then I’ll simply prepare myself for a collision of old memories and new.

I received a letter in the mail at work today, from the Spartanburg Chapter of Business and Professional Women (who has been an advocate for the working women across the nation since 1919). Apparently someone there saw the article on me in the local paper, and the letter was to congratulate me on the recent job, etc.

The letter went on to say that they wanted to invite me to their monthly breakfast where they have a light breakfast and a speaker. And that I needed to be there at 7 a.m.

I really do consider it a kind act of the Spartanburg Chapter of BPW, but 7 a.m.? I’d have to leave my house at 5:45 a.m. to get there on time, which means my feet would need to hit the floor somewhere around 4:30 a.m.

My Dad said, “Tell them thank you, but I’ll just take a gift card to Hardees.”

Last night, in the middle of the Great Rearranging of the House (which I’ve affectionately nicknamed the Feng Shui-ing) – the washer broke. And a few minutes later, so did the dryer. For the life of me, I cannot understand (nor imagine) how that could happen just merely minutes apart. It’s as though my household appliances are out to get me. I shall keep giving long side glances at the toaster.

And so I had to drip-dry some clothes during the night. And this morning, when I parted the curtains that hang in bedroom doorway, I simply moaned at the sight. Puddles of water were everywhere. So I scurried about (slowly, mind you) and put Large Fluffy Towels underneath the clothes. Murmuring the entire time.

And then tonight on the way home from work, I noticed my car had an odd little sound and the road rhythm seemed a bit off. So I called dad and asked him to come diagnose the problem. Unfortunately, my car behaved wonderfully when he took it out for a Furious Country Road Test. So, I still don’t know what was up with that.

But when my sugar dropped tonight, and I had to suddenly rush to find food or risk passing out, I saw that he had filled my gas tank up tonight (it was on F, practically) and I was overwhelmed with gratitude. You see, I also caught him stuffing a $20 dollar bill in my purse earlier this evening as he was walking out the door. And then when I tried to give it back, he ran down my dock and hollered something about how I needed to get back in the house and be a Good Daughter.

So even though everything is FALLING APART- I have a sweet dad who still wants to take care of his little girl (even though she is currently making comments left and right about how excited and wiggly she is to begin new adventures with the Other Man in Her Life).

We are waiting for the unfamiliar voice of God to speak. Because He owns heaven and earth and dispenses suns and stars at His pleasure, we expect a dramatic and booming voice that will cut through our personal noise. How arrogant to think God would use His King-of-the-Universe voice just to speak to us. Surely we are significant enough for something more than a still small voice. I know I’ve certainly used my If-I-Were-King-of-the-Universe voice to reach His heavenly ears from time to time. “HELLO GOD, HELLOOOOO. I BESEECHEST THINE EAR, INCLINETH TO MINE VOICE…” Testing, testing, is this thing on?

We fill up the silence because we are afraid He won’t. And there we’ll be awake, alone with the God of the universe and the sound of crickets.

But He does fill up the silence. Sometimes with the sound of His indescribable presence, which isn’t always very loud in my ears. But it communicates louder than thunder. Sometimes it is a mild impression or sense of peace or a distinct feeling. On rare occasions, it is a voice.

And sometimes, the quiet Presence brings an untroubled sleep.

- Living in the Sacred Now, Kim Thomas