Around the dawn of our first daughter, a friend shared a brilliantly shining jewel of wisdom with me, a concept that has been a loving lifeline and a joy ever since: the Corner of Sanity.
To explain, let me take you back to a hot Phoenix afternoon in 2012. The details of the afternoon are mostly lost in the ether of time and many sleepless nights since, so let me treat you to a creative reimagining: I was shown into my friends’ living room and invited to sit down. Let me say, this home was unabashedly what I’d call a “boy house.” There were army guys taking aim at us from most surfaces, legos strewn hither and yon, balls of all shapes and sizes spontaneously erupting into the air. And the noise: thank goodness for the exposure to real boy noise I got in those times with my friend, because little did my first-time-mama-of-a-gentle-baby-girl self know then that three rowdy boys were in my future as well.
But back to my friend’s couch in Phoenix: I sat, and she happily sank backward into what can only be described as a cushy armchair enchanted by roses. It was an absolutely lovely piece of furniture, but singular in comparison to the rest of the slip-covered, heavily-used room.
“I love that chair!” I told her, eyes wide.
“Thank you. It’s part of my corner of sanity.”
She smiled, then proceeded to explain: with every subsequent boy they added to their family, my friend had felt like she was ceding more and more of their home to sheer practicality, and abandoning or storing much of anything that was delicate, feminine, or uniquely hers. She loved her boys and her husband, but despaired at how she felt like she was slipping out of the picture. Then one day, inspiration struck: a corner of sanity. An oasis. She could carve out one—ONE—corner of their house that was devoted entirely to the refreshment of her spirit.
She resurrected a lovely lamp from their garage storage and gave it a soft lightbulb. She gathered a favorite small vase from her mother and kept two or three flowers in it year round. Her Bible, her journal, and a couple of favorite pens in a fun holder soon followed—and she finally saved up for the chair.
The boys were gently, faithfully trained to enjoy the rest of the living room and let her corner exist in a bubble of care. She no longer struggled with giving the house over to all-boyness: she had her spiritual, feminine retreat, and was thoroughly content.
Twelve years later, and I have gratefully cultivated my own Corner of Sanity as sweet branch after branch has been added to our family tree. We have moved seven times, and repeated the same pattern every single time. When we first walk into a new home, three things are decided on right away:
1) Where the coffee pot will go
2) Where the Christmas tree will eventually be placed, and
3) Where Momma will do her devotions in the morning.
The Corner of Sanity has ended up being the most graciously extended metaphor for my life as a Mom; I’ve willingly handed over my sleep schedule, my to-do list, and certainly my standards of cleanliness each time a new baby comes along. But from the beginning, I’ve learned the vital importance of holding fast to morning time with God to get me through.
Many other priorities can be downgraded or abandoned entirely, but going without time in the Word and in prayer has been akin to spiritual starvation. Trying to love and tend young life while starving is impossible to sustain—at some point, I will just run dry.
Enter my friend’s brilliant recommendation of a Corner of Sanity. Because there is a link to what I outwardly prioritize, and what I’m inwardly cherishing as beautiful and life-giving: the place where I sit and spend time with my Heavenly Father is my corner of sanity. It’s where I encounter and digest my living bread and water. When I walk by it during a busy day, when I stagger to it, raw-eyed and holding a sick kiddo at four am, there is a sense of sacred space, of Home, in the folds of that place. I have set that corner aside to remind me of what is Good, Beautiful, and Necessary in this life, in order to both steward my time well and to hold fast to what is True.
There have been homes we’ve lived in where my corner was the nightstand by my bed, and one brief couple of months when it was the drivers’ seat of our car. The physical location has never mattered at the end of the day. What has mattered is acknowledging by my efforts that my soul needs a place to rest and be fed. It’s an act that shows awareness of my own weakness, and an invitation to my Father to meet me here, adorned by small tangible things I am grateful to see as beautiful creations of His.
This is the place where most mornings I get to watch the sun rise, to greet our tousle-haired children as they blearily stumble to waiting blankets on our squishy couch. This is the place where I have wept and rejoiced in prayer morning after morning, where I have been confronted by the sin in my heart and comforted by the Hope that reigns over my future. In essence, it’s nothing less than the seat of my soul.
I pray you find a time and a way to cultivate your own space, a banquet seat from which you can feast on the Word and sit in attendance on the King. The actual outworkings of what that space looks like are entirely up to you, and can bring great joy to create; but in reality the profound worth is in the deepening relationship you’re seeking with your Heavenly Father.
A fun holder with special pens and an enchanted chair are really just a bonus.
Featured Image by freepik
She changes diapers, disciples her kids at home, loves her husband, Max, and blogs at: https://raisingourebenezers.wordpress.com/
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