Thursday, March 15, 2012

Bigger Picture Moment: Dust Bunnies

I didn't slam the door.

And I didn't run around the house picking up abandoned shoes and socks, hurriedly stashing them behind closed doors.

Or quickly wash the dishes that were piled next to the sink after a long morning filled with cooking.

I didn't rush to run the vacuum, pick up the clothes my boys had scattered across the hallway as they'd peeled pajamas from their small bodies mid-run to the breakfast table.

A simple impromptu play date initiated and executed first thing in the morning a few years ago would have left me breathless and stressed and scurrying to clean the lived-in spaces we call home.

Or it would have left me alone.

I simply would have deemed my home unacceptable and closed the front door to anyone wanting to walk through.

But that's not life for me anymore.

Because now -- a few years older, a few years wise, a few more miles walked -- I know that real life is a lot like my house at various points in the week.

Sometimes it's clean and lovely and tidy, but mostly, it's messy; it's lived in and imperfect with beautiful and lovely scattered through out.

Two times this week I opened the front door, largely with little notice, to women who kick aside the shoes and socks and make a path into the heart of the living room, sink into a chair and spread open their lives, ready to wade through the messy and share spread-open hearts.

They've loved me well through celebration and laughter, joy and silliness, through clean kitchens and tidy living rooms.

But, also, they've loved me through long miles and telephones, through grief and loss, through brokenness and healing and tears and hurt and the dust bunnies and cobwebs that push across the floors.

So twice this week, I simply just opened the door, thankful that there have been souls who have taught me how.

And despite the mess, I haven't regretted it for a second.



Simple BPM


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