When my alarm went off this morning, there was no scarlet-hued sky to greet me. I think this is the first morning since living here that the clouds were so heavy and gray that they blocked the sunrise. So I made my own light: I lit a candle.
Yesterday morning was make-and-freeze food day, and the savory scent of onion and garlic still lingers. Pumpkin spice candle joins, and suddenly it smells like Christmas.
Last night we walked home from a family dinner at my parents’ house. The air was warm and heavy, the wind thick with a soon-to-come thunderstorm. Lightning flickered on the horizon, and our little family of four excitedly pointed out each flash, trying to guess where the next would appear.
I love our little family.
Today, I hope, will be a hunker down and be together kind of day. It’s been so, so busy. Fun and busy, but busy.
Sunday was a reminder to me of the gospel, and grace that I don’t derserve [so stop trying to.] I think I used to do a better job at running to the Holy Spirit for help, at looking to Jesus when condemnation was heaping. But somehow, the constant pressure of being wife and mom has left me overwhelmed by my weakness and pride and guilt and every other yucky thing that comes out of our souls when we get squished. And I’ve forgotten — forgotten Jesus, a Savior, and the Holy Spirit, my help. People see the beauty of grace when I’m living in a constant state of needing, asking, and receiving. Trying to be more perfect is just not going to impress anyone with how wonderful Jesus is, and it exhausts me. Like grinding gears with no oil. Awful.
I’d rather have living waters bubbling.