A House by the Side of the Road

A house on a farm in Kansas? Can actually touch the world? Or is it the world touching the farm? The answer is: Yes . . . both!

Today we sat around the old oak dining-room table and ate sandwiches with a family from Ukraine. Earlier in the morning we breakfasted around the same table with overnight guests from Georgia, USA.

Meanwhile, grandchildren and our children pass by our dining room window: Dan on his daily prayer walk; Elsie on her bike, off to clean for an elderly woman down Kitten Creek Road; the three younger boys watering all the newly planted trees around our home.  Out our kitchen window we catch glimpses across the road of  Caleb and Josh  moving the goats from one pen to another.

I think of the poem (see below) I have always loved. Yes, I am that introvertish kind of person that likes my space but dearly loves other people. In my house-by-the-side-of-the road I have found I can still be a friend to many, many people.

How blessed I am!!!!

 The House by the Side of the Road

 There are hermit souls that live withdrawn

In the place of their self content.

There are souls like stars, that dwell apart,

In a fellowless firmament;

There are pioneer souls that blaze the paths

Where highways never ran-

But let me live by the side of the road

And be a friend to man.

Let me live in a house by the side of the road

Where the race of men go by-

The men who are good and the men who are bad,

As good and as bad as I.

I would not sit in the scorner’s seat

Nor hurl the cynic’s ban-

Let me live in a house by the side of the road

And be a friend to man.

I see from my house by the side of the road

By the side of the highway of life,

The men who press with the ardor of hope,

The men who are faint with the strife,

But I turn not away from their smiles and tears,

Both parts of an infinite plan-

Let me live in a house by the side of the road

And be a friend to man.

I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead,

And mountains of wearisome height;

That the road passes on through the long afternoon

And stretches away to the night.

And still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice

And weep with the strangers that moan,

Nor live in my house by the side of the road

Like a man who dwells alone.

Let me live in my house by the side of the road,

Where the race of men go by-

They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,

Wise, foolish – so am I.

Then why should I sit in the scorner’s seat,

Or hurl the cynic’s ban?

Let me live in my house by the side of the road

And be a friend to man.

Sam Walter Foss

Yes,

So thankful for the opportunities we have of stepping through the barriers of space to understand our world just a little better.