The best investment I ever made was not in the stock market, but at an outdoor furniture store.  Some years ago I purchased a porch swing and now I wonder how I survived before that.  I especially like to sit on my front porch swing in the early morning, when the world is still slumbering.  As I sway back and forth I think through my day and pray for my family.  The front porch swing is, for me, a place of solace and centering.

I am genetically inclined to sit on a front porch swing.  My father passed along the required DNA.  Most every morning and nearly every evening, when I lived in my parents’ home, I could find Dad on our swing, pipe clenched between his teeth, a wreath of smoke encircling his head.  While he nursed a cup of coffee we would discuss great religious controversies, critique American foreign policy, estimate the speed of vehicles hurtling down our street, and speculate about what I should be if I ever grew up.

But sometimes we spoke sparingly.  Sitting with my father on our front porch swing I learned to live comfortably with long silences.  We let the squeak of the springs fill the quiet gaps.  Dad didn’t feel the need to bridge pauses with idle words and, after awhile, I figured out I didn’t have to either.  Being comfortable with silence is a craft worth learning.  I once gave my dad a poster of a man and son quietly fishing on a dock;  the caption under the photo read "He who loves much, says little."  Dad liked that poster.

So I suppose it is natural that I should have a front porch swing.  Often, if I sit on the porch near the end of the day, one of my incoming family members will sit down for a visit.  Sometimes it’s just casual chatting about the coolness of the evening or the activities of the day.  At times it evolves into seemingly important subjects:  religious controversy, American foreign policy and the like.  Once in awhile we delve into the most profound matters of all:  What do you want to be when you grow up?  How are you really feeling?    Is there something I can do to help?

I have found it is much easier to have a meaningful conversation on a front porch swing than in an arranged dialogue.   A porch swing seems to ease words along in a measured manner.  You can let the squeak of the springs fill the gaps of silence.  There is no hurry or rush permitted on a swing.  It is a place where life--and conversation-- slows down to an amble.

And an amble is just the right speed for family talk.