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Have you ever been to a place, seen something or met someone that gave you a peace within your soul? I am a Christian, but this was different. This was a “knock my socks off” or “better than sex” experience! Well, even a Christian needs a sense of humor. As I walked up the thirteen steps, to the loft, an overwhelming peace filled my entire being.

Since a very early age, I have been able to use my imagination to create poems or write little short stories now and then. But sometimes I find it difficult to write about anything, unless I am in a peaceful environment. As I walked into the loft, I imagined that even the angels came here to get their “to do” list done, review who is coming or going, or maybe even just to think about God!

As my husband and I drove up to this magnificent two-story log cabin, built on a spacious partial hill, I was already on my way up to the clouds. This home looked like something that should be in a magazine for everyone to admire. I pinched myself to make sure that I hadn’t died and gone to Heaven. And what’s wrong with believing that Heaven might be one huge country cabin where everyone could feel right at home, unless, you despise country homes?

The entire home had an interlocking wrap-around porch with rockers, benches and even a place to hang your hat at the back door. On that same rack hung old cooking utensils and an old pair of muddy boots. Maybe one of the angels had been working in the garden recently.

A friendly West “By God” Virginia cousin met us at the door. Of course, the house was spotless, but that didn’t matter to me. Angels have to take their wings off now and then and kick off their white shoes! Anyway, we got the tour of the house. Strategically and perfectly placed were an old treasure chest, miniature John Deere tractors, tiny trains, an antique school desk with an ink well, Amish homemade furniture and a relative’s antique “secretary” desk. When I visited Thomas Jefferson’s home in Virginia, I remembered the desk look similar to the one in his museum. I admired a small coal stove, like the one Nannie used to warm our clothes for school.

Was that an angel I heard singing gospel songs throughout the house? No, but it was close enough. It was Carroll Robertson, long-time gospel singer, as I was told. I still thought it was an angel, because every room I visited, I could hear his strong Christian voice and every note.

The large stoned fireplace was made of light gray and soft brown colors to blend in with the shade of the home. The log mantle displayed family portraits. This seems to be a tradition in the homes I have visited with fireplaces. Old-fashioned wooden barrels and a black antique kettle adorned the fireplace step. I could just picture the angels sitting around the fire, after a long day, warming up from wearing only those thin angel costumes. Someone called me and I looked up and over the fireplace. That’s when I saw the loft.

I slowly walked up the polished solid steps. I counted thirteen. For some people, odd numbers are unlucky, but me this was meant to be. This was a warm and welcoming room with a picture window view that any creative artist would adore. Even with a clouded sky, the room reflected an angelic light throughout the loft. I felt a chill for a second or two and realized that God was giving me a sign. He was giving me inspiration in the loft.

While relatives were speaking of family stories and such, I was in my dream world. I could have stayed there forever. I just stood there and memorized every little detail. I ran my eyes through the huge bookcase. I imagined that many a story was read to the little angels or bible stories were created in the loft. I said a silent pray and thanked Him for bringing me to this room. If it were my time to go, I would go with open arms, while in this room. I felt a jolt, which broke my spell, and realized that it was time to leave.

I walked just as slowly downstairs, as I did walking up, to savor each last moment of the loft’s atmosphere and inspiration. I giggled as I imagined the angels running up and down the stairs, while their white gowns flowed from the breeze. I didn’t want to leave but knew my husband couldn’t leave me stranded in West Virginia and I dare not let him go home alone. Maybe I could hide inside the bookcase. No, I would have to empty the contents out and I would make too much noise. I had to go.

I walked through the warm country kitchen. I could smell the scent of the candles burning, as I looked upon the sunflowers in country buckets. I ran my hand over the forest green marble counter top and noticed that the checkered curtains matched everything. A large bay window allowed the morning sun to shine in with tips from God. I imagined the angels cooking, chatting and eating in this perfect kitchen, before scattering to do their chores.

I hated to leave. I took one last slow walk down the stepping-stones. I turned and noticed the wooden bench amidst the fallen leaves. The type of bench where a young couple would sit and hold hands, while they were courting. I saw the homemade wishing well surrounded by the perfect landscape. There is no doubt that this home was made with a lot of hard work, love and inspiration.

I know of love and inspiration. The Lord loves me and gives me inspiration. I just wish I lived closer than a seven-hour drive so I could make some excuse to visit often. Then, I would plant myself in the loft and create. We have a few pictures of this magnificent log cabin that we’ll show to our friends. We’ll tease them a little by saying this is our summer getaway, just to see the look on their faces. We’ll all have a good laugh.

But, I didn’t get any pictures of the loft itself. I didn’t need any because that is the one room that I will always remember. For me, this was the room that gave me peace within my soul. Was it really the room or was it an inspiration that was meant to be? I don’t know. My recollection of this uniquely crafted home is nowhere near the beauty it reveals. And, each person who visits this home might choose a different room, than I have chosen as my favorite. If only you could have been there……

PAL
(WRITTEN & DEDICATED TO: GAIL & DEWEY, HUNTINGTON, WEST VA)


------
Paula Leslie (PAL)
"Give a little of yourself each day to someone in need and you will be rich in your heart."


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