I laid claim to this stretch of wide open white space in an effort to become a more purposeful listener. There’s a story being told, you know. Love letters, scrawled in Mercy’s own hand, across the stretch of mostly ordinary days we call a life. Tale of redemption and re-making. Morning mercy. Evening grace. But you can miss it. Become so busy in the bustle that the story blurs and you’re blind. I’m leaning in – craning and straining – to hear Him in the litany. Praying to plant two prone-to-wander feet in the beautiful messy grace of the present moment. Wonderstuck that He would whisper love to us in the midst of all the noise. In all of our meandering and misteps, He’s holding up, and all things together, and us close. I have tasted and seen. He is good.
I fell in love with a “perfect-for-me” man more than a decade ago. By God’s grace, we’re raising two brown-eyed littles. The harmony of their laughter is musical – the smile of God – a reminder that LOVE makes a family.
I’ll admit that I lean toward capturing the beautiful here, but don’t be fooled. Our days are filled with mayhem and messes. I’m impatient. I’m forever looking for my keys. My children may or may not be wearing matching socks. Chances are, I have no idea what’s for dinner. Thankfully, the grace is heaped higher than the laundry.
However you stumbled upon this place, welcome.
Stay as long as you like.