Intimate horizon - making the bedroom a sanctuary

Soon after the birth of my second child, I found the roles of wife, housekeeper, daughter, sister and mother overwhelming. I decided I had to create a space for myself. When I stopped to think about it, I realized that I shared all of the rooms in my home and most of my time with others. This occurred to me the afternoon when the baby was sleeping and everyone was gone. The bliss that stirred from the rays of the sun and the peace that came from the silence were gifts that I didn't want in snatches. I rarely had time to nurture myself, to grab the peace I needed. I began to think about me and what my needs were.

Some said it was postpartum blues, others said I should sign up at a gym, some suggested I try a trip to a spa - one woman told me all I needed was a good affair. Well, I'm not one who places any great value on the temporal, for life is short enough in and of itself. No, I'm the kind of person who likes good things for keeps. I figured out that it wasn't so much a getaway I needed, but rather a transporting of the mind, body and spirit, and I needed to have access to it any time I wanted. I needed a kind of nurturing that rarely comes from another person. I wanted to feed my senses in a glance, to stir my being in a whiff, to be massaged without hands - to have a space that laid claim to me and I to it. How powerful this would be, I thought, if I could have it all at my fingertips - a kind of sanctuary, a place that was familiar, that nurtured, lifted and calmed me. A place where I could go to gain repose, to tend to myself, to sort out my thoughts, lay my burdens down and commune with God. So I decided one afternoon that I would create this sanctuary in my bedroom.

First I removed the phone. I decided that I didn't want the intrusion. Any calls could wait until morning when I was up and about and in the kitchen, where I kept a wall phone. I swaddled my bed in sheer netting to render it the welcoming cocoon I thought it should be. Little by little I worked on my cozy retreat, filling it with the things that speak to me and setting it up in such away that each and every corner provided a special escape. I filled my night table with special necessities: photos of our children and the ancestors, miniature fragrances, dried flowers, a notepad, hand cream and my Bible. I revamped my dresser with both the old and the new: combs, brushes, potpourri, glistening powders, antique candle holders and bottles and a pretty tray. I found another place for my bills; they certainly didn't feed my senses. Pictures went up of the many places I'd been, certificates I'd won, flowers I'd love to grow and fields I desire to run through. I found a sumptuous chair that almost called me by name and placed it right under the window and it became my "chariot to the free skies." Then came the vanity - the "altar to the self" - and I personalized it too, with beauty treatments, makeup, fragrant oils and special lamps. Baskets of books rounded out the vacant corners. Finally, I dressed my bed in the finest linens my money could buy. My expression of love to myself was complete. My sanctuary was in place.

Sometimes I sit here and I rock, I'm touched but I don't feel - my wounds are too great, life is too much and I've got to tell God about it. Other times I let the many joys I've known run free, as my eyes glance here and there, remembering who I am and where I came from, gazing at Grandma's picture and thinking about the love she gave, touching a shell plucked from a distant shore, smiling over unique triumps marked by little gifts to myself that only I know. Sometimes I simply meditate.

It is here in the sanctuary where I touch me like no other can - where there is no second-guessing of what pleases, where I talk to, scold and tenderly hold me. Here, where I kiss and massage my own limbs, forgive the troubled spots, and increase my familiarity with this temple I've been given. Where I take pleasure in anointing this brown body with oil and treasuring its uniqueness. I smile when I think about how I've learned to see beyond the reflection in the glass at that vanity. I can accept this love that proceeds out of the heart and enjoy life from the inside out. I've skipped across many rainbows in my life in search of the pot of gold at the end, never coming upon it until now - in this place.

And so everything done in this room is purposeful - from the laying out of my gown and slippers to never leaving the bed unmade. I believe sleep is the most wondrously restoring of all journeys, and so I prepare for it. Oftentimes I'll have a cup of tea or half a glass of milk, massage my feet with oil and gently put pressure at the base of my neck and across the crease of my eyes from the nose out for relaxation. A little faint music in the background along with prayerful study of the Word is how I prepare myself to drift. More important, though, this bed means so much more to me than that. This vessel, where my babies were created (and now there are three), where deaths were mourned, where lips met, where my man comes to take and give, where I've taken a hundred sorrows and twice as many joys, is a world unto itself for me. It is a harbor of comfort and dreams, where artful seduction mixes with self-love, peace, respect and yes, wisdom. Here I know and am known. Where I am never lost.

So it is always bliss to return to my little sanctuary each evening, to restore and polish the jewels of my mind, expand my vision and tend my body. To come here and release my frustrations, to soar in solitude, to lift my head and begin anew!

COPYRIGHT 1993 Essence Communications, Inc.
COPYRIGHT 2004 Gale Group