Since getting home on the 1st, I feel like I’ve been the recipient of a million little graces every day.
Little graces like being able to enjoy an evening with candlelight, even when there are laundry baskets in the middle of the room. Like not noticing until last night that the house hasn’t been dusted since my mom did a run-through. Like being aware of how desperately the bathroom needed to be cleaned, but not losing my temper about it. Like being happy to make a pretty spot, and be able to enjoy it even when the house as a whole may not be orderly. Like ditching the clock and being happy that we’re dressed when we’re dressed, the beds are made when I get a chance, and I’m chipping away at the overall goal: living today. Like feeling initially flustered by William throwing up all over the couch this morning (in the midst of what already felt like a slowly fraying morning, if you know what I mean), deciding to just wash all of the cushion covers, and then realizing I’m really enjoying a day of granny afghans. Sort of cheerful. Sort of home.
Like just feeling like I’m able to settle into each day and be all here instead of scrambling so desperately to stay above water and way on top of things that my nerves feel wound tighter than the lowest note on a concert grand, and watch out or I might just break, and you know how much damage a flying piano string can do. Ugh. And yuck.
And I know it’s grace, because I haven’t really even been trying. My part has simply been to say, “Thanks God.”
more grace in my life: