I’m getting older in all the best ways.
I know who I am and don’t hide from it anymore. I’ve been away from home five days and coming back is like slipping into your most comfortable sweat pants and having someone hand you a cup of hot chocolate.
This is my skin.
This is my house.
This is my ordinary and when I see it with fresh eyes it’s so extraordinary I can feel that heaven-breath pulsing through everything.
Dear God how you must love us to offer all this sacred wrapped up in the trappings of scrubby boys and skinned elbows and baby girls with dimples. So much holy on a Wednesday morning I can see it even through the spilled Cheerios and the dog that refuses to stay off the sofa.
Look at the lines beside these eyes of mine. Like parenthesis. They cup all that I have seen – a testament to the fact that your mercies are actually new every morning. I have screamed down this carpet and roared in bedrooms and scared small boys. But you are stripping me of it – this temper born into my DNA. You are scrubbing me down with your Spirit and I am learning the art of the whisper, the dance, the celebration.
Fall has arrived and I think even the trees breath a sigh of relief at the respite from humidity. The cold has us cuddly on the sofas while Elmo or Bob the Builder or Shaun the Sheep bleats at us from the TV.
Micah slips his arm around my shoulder and mutters, “I like sitting with you.”
Zoe swats her arms as I swat at mosquitoes on mine.
The dog is determined to sandwich herself between us all.
And when Peter comes home there is a race to see who will open the door to him first. Everyone talking at the same time. Everyone trying to jump at him. This family he has built with me wraps arms and legs and loud baby babble around his welcome home.
And later Jackson will make a bad mistake and I will be forced to uphold the consequences and both of us will cry about it. But he will learn that courage is when the frightened do brave things in the face of their fear. Peter will tell me how that seven-year-old courage transpired and we will pass another milestone in this parenting journey.
These are my people.
We are made for one another.
This is my church.
I bow low over carpet stains and I know the holy of a Wednesday afternoon.