Sometimes a day is sunshine –
A birds-are-singing,
giggle-til-your-belly- aches,
kind of day.

We laugh loud.
We listen long.
We love like Jesus.

Sometimes a day dawns tattered,
unravelled before it’s half-hatched.

Sometimes there are tears before breakfast.
Sometimes I cause them.
Sometimes they are mine.

We snag on splinters and sarcasm.
Spill milk and harsh words.
Break vows, and dishes, and best-kept silence.
Lose shoes, and self-control, and sight of Him.

But every day, HE is here
inhabiting our laughter and loneliness,
our loving and languishing,
kissing skinned souls and scarred hearts.

Mountain Mover,
cramming us all under this roof and full of His glory,
writing poetry with our pieces,
and stories with our shards.

Trading His Gospel for our grit,
His light for our lies,
His shine for our shame,
He’s here.

Little image-bearers park bare feet beneath my breakfast table.
This man, spent from a day of pouring out, ties on the towel, bends low to wash tired Momma feet, and gives the more that he could hoard.

Yes, HE is here.
In memories and mess,
in grime and in grace.
And that should change everything.

May the the alarm clock be our invitation,
to see every grace as gift from Him,
each interruption as His appointment,
and all our work as worship.

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