Laundry I need to fold is piled by the side of my bed. The alarm vibrates near the pillow. Behind the shades the sky is dark, a mystery yet whether the sky will be grey or bright blue. Bare feet search for the wood floor, a place safe to stand up without toppling the small mountain of socks, t-shirts, leggings. And then Fulton, from his sleeping nook at the foot of our bed, is banging his tail against the floor. Yes, it’s time to rise.
Justin is heating the kettle for his cold-brewed Americano. He takes his mug into the front room and reads. I walk around the dark house and open the shutters, let out the dog. I turn off the front porch light, the outside still dark. I turn on one light in the kitchen, welcoming light to shine in gentle–a blanket quiet, expectant, sure.
Perhaps this day is full of promise. Perhaps it is awake and alive and waiting for me to jump on in.
We are in a state of waiting, of looking and seeking, of watching God do amazing, beautiful things–granting gifts we don’t deserve. I have written a book, and we are negotiating a contract with a publisher. Justin has written a book, and he is working with an editor and publisher. The house is in disarray, books from my daughter’s bedroom piled on the dining table as we move the books we love most out of our little house and into the writing studio. Things are topsy-turvy and crazy and good.
And I pause.
All potential good work is nothing when we miss time with God. Anything good is because of Him.
Any work we do, any gift we are given, any relationship or conversation we experience is hollow unless we see our Father in it.
He lets us seek him or forget him. He lets us desire him or reject him. He lets us listen for him or ignore him.
It is common for us to hear the phrase, tossed around like a kite we cling to, as if it is about to fly away unless we grasp the string tight, with clasped hands . . . life is filled, life is busy, life is crazy.
So, please God, help us choose you. Help us seek you. Help us slow.
Show us what changes we need to make so you aren’t crowded out. Soften our hearts so we recognize how we miss you. Break us wide open so we are desperate for you. Keep us raw and unguarded, rising our heads this day to seek your eyes. You see us. You are looking into us. You are our light and our hope, our joy and our delight.
All is nothing without you. This day, in the mess, the uncertainty, the good and the scary, the joy and the pain, come, Father. You are all we need.
We lean up now, our ears pressed up against your chest.
Let the light shine in now, Father. Come on in, now. Shine on in.