Recently I went somewhere I hadn’t been for a while: the roof of our house. I was painting the gables of our two story house—hanging onto a rope with one hand and painting with the other. While adjusting the ropes, I sat and looked out over the town and valley. The view filled me with a quiet joy as I looked at the cows in the valley and Douglas firs marching up the sides of the mountains.
Our family moved to this house when I was in the 7th grade. Then Myrtle Point was a thriving logging town with nearby mills running three shifts. Today the town’s story is more about unemployment, addiction, and hopelessness. Many of the broken and lost trudge up the hill and past our gate.
But from the roof, I looked over Myrtle Point and saw the beauty of the place God has called me to love. I blessed Myrtle Point and was blessed. We can, I think, easily fail to see the place we are. When we fail to see, we often fail to bless. Perhaps we need to climb onto the roof more often.
