On a gloomy day, I love the light that a simple lamp casts upon a certain space. It is a gentle light that invites you in and you settle into this place.
It is where you are content without company. It is a happy place, an honest place; one that as a child, you visited but forgot about as the years sped by.
Into your private place, you take your favourite books, things you like to put your hands to. It is here that you sink into your deepest conversations with God. Thing that you love comes into that room under its light.
I have such a room. My daughter helped me organize it, if indeed it is organized as I bring things there to lie on my table; only to discover they are not special enough to stay and are put into piles to be sent elsewhere. Everything is touched often and moved around. Some brightly coloured knitting yarns sit in baskets only because they look nice. I don’t allow things to stay that cause me to feel guilty or overwhelmed. My husband will sometimes come in and share some private thoughts with me but it is only for a few moments and then he withdraws. My cats sometimes sneak in, hoping to be allowed to stay but they too retreat, unnoticed as they are. My dog Hank sits quietly beside me.
I guess it is not a surprise that there is a similarity between the soft bidding light of my secret room and my barn where the colours, textures, shadows are all deep and comforting.