If you were in my kitchen right now, I’d offer you a cup of tea. Or coffee. We’d sit at my dinged up dining room table, wipe a few crumbs to the side, and lean back in our chairs. I’d warm my hands around the cup. We’d breathe wordless for a few moments. And, then, I’d say, “How are you? For real and honest.” We’d talk over steam until it ran out, and I’d tell you about struggles and small joys. You’d share a burden, a thrill, or maybe we’d just laugh. I might pass along a recipe or tell you about a book. And woven in and through it all, we’d see Him.
I’m walking through this life just like everyone else, trying to do the best I can without getting beat up too badly. Working to keep my eyes on Abba Father, relying on my Elder Brother, and seeking guidance from Holy Comfort. And thanking Him for keeping me steady.
I’m a mother, wife and sister and daughter and friend. I’m a follower of Jesus. I think too much about things that don’t matter and too little about the things that do. I don’t mind making the beds or folding laundry, but dirty dishes give me pause. Oh, and I wear a fanny pack sometimes.
If someone asked me, “What are a few of your favorite things?” I’d probably say, “There’s nothing like taking a really, deep breath. Digging in dirt. Holding my daughters’ hands. Sharp pencils. Savory soup. Seeing my Father’s hand spin Life in and around me. Oh, and words. I love words.”
True and heartwarm thanks for stopping by.
Broken, Filled, and Spilled,