The Air Moves Again: Should We Close the Windows?
April 29, 2026
I love this time of spring!
At night here on the farm when the windows are open, we’re treated to a nighttime choir of spring peepers letting us know how much they enjoyed a rainfall. I listen intently, hoping to catch the call of the first whippoorwill of the season, and just the other night my patience was rewarded.
But a few nights ago we had another sort of visitor. Not a peeper, not a whippoorwill, not any other sort of sound.
What came wafting through our open windows was an unmistakeable smell.
SKUNK!
And because the windows were open, that unmistakable scent didn’t stay outside where it belonged. It moved right in…room to room…and fast.
It’s a moment when instinct takes over. There’s no quiet pause. No moment to reflect. There’s no gentle “sit with it.”
It’s all action and reaction!
Windows slam shut. Doors close. And the house, which just minutes before had been wide open, is sealed tight again.
When Fresh Air Isn’t Comfortable
It’s easy to love the idea of open windows until something comes through that you didn’t invite: the smell you don’t want, unexpected rain and chill, or dust, pollen, and noise.
All it takes is one wandering skunk to bring home the uncomfortable reality that once the windows are open, you are no longer fully in control of what enters the room.
Moments like this skunky visit once again remind me of the line from John.
“The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going.” (3:8)
Because once the windows are open, the air doesn’t ask permission. It moves how it moves. Sometimes, what the wind carries with it is not entirely welcome.
And the moment something uncomfortable comes through — a skunk passing by or a sudden drop in temperature followed by the rumble of thunder — my instinct is immediate: close everything back up and return to control.
Living with the windows open means accepting things I don’t always like. It means being unable to control everything that comes in — not the timing, not the direction, and not the intensity.
I can open the windows, but I cannot manage the wind. Because the wind blows wherever it pleases, I hear it, but I can’t tell where it came from or know where it’s heading.
And maybe that’s the point.
The same air that carries the occasional skunk smell is also the air that clears the skunk smell out of the house. The same shifting winds that hint at a coming storm are also what breaks the heaviness that has settled in.
So here I am, learning—slowly—not to react too quickly.
Not to slam everything shut at the first sign of discomfort. To pause. To wait. To let the air move a little longer before deciding what to do next.
A Question and an Invitation
A Question: Where in your life are you tempted to close things up again the moment something uncomfortable comes through?
An Invitation: This week, before you shut everything down, pause. Notice what’s actually happening. Ask yourself if this something that really needs to be closed off? Or is it something that might pass through if you leave it alone?
You don’t have to force anything open…just don’t rush to close it.
With you in the open air,
Gina
