“Earth is so thick with divine possibility that it is a wonder we can walk anywhere without cracking our shins on altars.”
Barbara Brown Taylor, An Altar in the World: A Geography of Faith
So often, I wonder… what am I missing? When my nose is to the grindstone and my ankles are latched onto by small hands and the dirty diapers overtake the garbage and the laundry flows freely out of the hamper… what am I not seeing?
When life turns into lists and my head feels heavy on the pillow, what do I choose to notice?
The bones ache and the arms hurt and the eyes grow tired. I notice the body that wears down. I notice the list, but not the items. And after time to stop, think, pause and breathe, I’m startled right through and I realize that I’ve been trained to DO… when my heart yearns to FEEL.
Produce. Do. Complete. Get done. Move forward. Go. I’ve been taught these verbs for years and have been made to believe that my value is dependent on them. That my interaction with Him is based upon them. Everything in this culture moves at the rate of immediacy and we’ve never been trained to stop… to drink in what we are so eager to push through. To the untrained eye… to the untrained heart, a pile of laundry is something to do. Something to complete.
But what if the laundry paints itself as an altar? A place where we come to encounter the Holy… a temple of the Most High? What does laundry look like then? To the student… what about homework? To the mother… what about the temper tantrums? To the man providing for his family… what about the work? It’s always been seen as something to do. But what if we see it as something to encounter?
I’m tired of the boxes I’ve packed up for God. He never seems to fit inside of them.
Slowly and timidly, I have prayed. I’ve knelt and asked Him to show Himself to me. Not just when I read His Book. Not just when I sit in the pew. I want Him to soak into my skin, and I want him like I want oxygen. He is faithful and has opened my eyes. He has opened my heart.
Each shirt I fold becomes a hymn. Each bottle I wash, a prayer of gratitude and thanks. Each temper tantrum, a lesson in humility and grace. The gravel blood and cement heart walls soften and the pressure plummets. I breathe. There is grace and blessing here, in the everyday altars of life.
The air is thick with Him, if you allow Him to fill it… and I breathe Him in and my heart spills over.
281. An afternoon to sit at a bustling coffee shop and write, write, write.
282. The holiday season is here. Proof: Starbucks has red cups.
283. Journaled pages, filled with prayers and questions and my heart.
284. A new set of blocks for the small boy.
285. Leaves falling on pathways, painting the ground in Autumn.
286. A comfortable couch to sink into at the end of the day.
287. A church that loves, supports and holds up.
288. A community of friends who love us and adore my son.
289. The familiar comfort of an old college sweatshirt.
290. Hope is God and God is Hope.
Beautiful. Words I needed to be reminded of. “Doing life” can become just that…doing. I want to be constantly in tune with the Spirit in all that I encounter. I’m praying with you!
Oooh girl, this is good. “Each shirt I hold becomes a hymn.” Working for the Lord in EVERYTHING. You are RIGHT. ON. friend. Good good good.
I’m sure that God is in every breath and every moment, but sometimes we have to seek, seek, seek to find Him–even when He’s standing right in front of us. So true.
Love this! The air IS thick with Him, if you allow Him to fill it! Breathing him in this week!