I walk in its space dozens of times each day, rarely stopping longer than it takes to open a door going out of it. It is the transition space, separating and joining bedrooms and bathroom, doing the same for the kitchen and the front room, with the attic and closet doors entering between. The various detectors, a couple of pictures, a mirror, an overhead light, and a cross reside in the hall. The only natural light comes from windows in other rooms. With doors closed and light off, it’s almost as dark as the basement. It is the inner crossroad in my house, ushering everyone who lives here from one room to another virtually unnoticed and rarely appreciated, a means to another end.

I spend time here when I clean – wiping down woodwork, walls, and ceiling for Spring cleaning, dusting pictures and sweeping the floor every week. It may not be a major destination for anyone living here, but it requires time and energy to keep it in good order. Not just the main rooms, but the place in between bears life.

I think the same can be said of the transition times in my life, those in-between periods that connect one stage of life to another. Both my sons are in the space between childhood and adulthood, one just at the beginning and the other closer to the end. As they move from one stage to another, so do my husband and I. No longer parents of young children, but parents of sons moving into adulthood.It’s certainly not the first transition, and it won’t be the last. If I’m honest, every day is a place of transition on this journey from birth to death, but there are settled times along the way – the rooms we reach through the in-between space.

Like my hallway, transition space is lit by where I was before and the place where I’m going, its own light source only shining if I choose to flip it on. There are many doors, simultaneously connecting and separating life choices and stages. It’s not meant to be a destination, just a gracious entry.

I’m glad there’s a cross in my hallway. In this in-between space, in this in-between time, at every crossroad, God meets me. The one who created me, the one who walked this earth like me, and the one who is with me always – a lot of grace per square foot.

One thought on “Hallway

  1. Bill Albritton

    Gets me thinking–do I recognize transitions anymore? I think not. There seems to be no interstitial space in my life–only movement through and not to.


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