 I glanced at my watch. I needed to leave in five minutes so Allen could go to work.
“I might go another six months without having a conversation like this,” he said. That’s the kind of friendship we have. We live 350 miles away from each other, but we can go deep in a matter of minutes, even though I only see him once or twice a year. It didn’t hurt that we were on his enclosed front porch – in an environment that was created for conversation. We sat facing each other in wicker chairs. His taped up Bible lie on the table next to him. He does his devotions out there each morning, which means it is his holy place – the place where he meets with God. I felt grateful to be welcomed in. His toy dachshund wasn’t so sure if he should welcome me or not, so he alternated between begging for my attention and barking at me. But ultimately, he seemed to decide that if I was good enough for Allen, then I was good enough for him. As I glanced at my watch one last time, I was reminded of what John Sowers wrote recently about front porches in Portland being built outward-facing for relationship and communal living. Go check it out if you have a chance. It’s a good read. Comments are closed.
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