Mt. Tabor holds a special place in my heart. Always will. It was the first park in Portland I visited, and it was love at first sight. It’s big and rich with amazing, green, northwest life. It reminds me so much of where I grew up. I think it was that—the familiarity—that drew me to it. I had many a runs, walks, tears, laughs, picnics, prayers, sprained ankles…ok only one sprained ankle, but it was a bad one…on this beautiful, green mountain. I even slid down it on a massive block of ice once. Don’t ask.
There is something so grounding about being where you were raised—in the house filled with memories, the views that remind you of the thoughts you gave them, the early morning sounds that have changed so little with time, the voices and embraces of the familiar and intimate. I don’t get to go back to where I grew up very often so I’m glad I have Tabor. Just like when I leave my old home, when I leave Tabor I leave feeling a sense of liberation and gratitude for what was—all the brokenness included—and for what is. This last time I went with Eleanor and it made me ponder how to create a foundational home for her. A home she misses. A familiar, safe place she loves to retreat to when she needs a break from the life she’s made for herself…as awesome as I know it will be. Just somewhere she can always come back to. A place where she knows she doesn’t have to be anybody but Eleanor. A place where she knows she’ll be loved no matter what. I want to build a home like that for her. A home with a foundation that doesn’t move; a foundation that’s real.
P.S. Happy fourth months, sweet girl!