As I walk through the house with windows open, sunlight drifting in like a casual visitor.
The tile feels cool underneath my feet and the curtains wave hello in the early autumn wind.
It's a beautiful day.
I stop in the middle of the kitchen, glance over dishes still on the counter.
My attention shifts to the open door of the bedroom where white sheets are still crumpled.
I sigh, the stillness of the moment slipping away as my house turns from a sanctuary to a place where there's much to do.
Then I stop, reconsider, and say the phrase that I've been whispering to myself these last few weeks, "People live here."
Those dishes? They're evidence of a slowly savored dinner and conversation with my family.
That bed? It's a reminder of a morning that has felt less hurried than usual and the extra cup of coffee that felt like a lovely surprise.
People live here--people who laugh, make messes, forget to put the plates away, drop their shoes in the living room sometimes. People who are gloriously imperfect. Those things to do? They can wait--but love can't.
I think of my heart then too. How it reminds me so much of this house sometimes. Messy corners. Unswept places. Dust bunnies of "should's" and "ought to's" peeking out at me.
Then suddenly I recall the same phrase again, "People live here." And I smile because I know it's true. There's a person who is imperfect, in process, in the middle of becoming all she'll be (that's me). And a Person who's flawless and committed to seeing all of His good work in me through to completion.
The parts of my heart that still need work?
They can wait for His perfect timing--but love can't.
So today I choose love.
In my home.
In my heart.
I put what matters most before having everything "just so." Instead I take deep breath, whisper a prayer, and ask for the grace to have eyes that see what He does just so I can love in this moment.
Yes, it's a beautiful day.
I pray you are having a beautiful day.
Blessings,
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