we rise to a sky slipping steel down the shingles, to a watery smear of sun. laundry mounds, papers tower in stacks of waiting and this is how i know it’s monday. i thought they’d tidied up last night, but the aftermath of books and legos on the middles’ floor is enough to make this mama sag into the morning’s grey.
clearly: this is day that needs singing.
so i put on some crowder band and hillsong and matt redman and start a load of whites in the washer. i fold up this cloak of exhaustion, step from the reach of sticky-fingered fear over all the things that could go wrong in the next month’s time. and i allow His fathomless grace to speak a better word for me today.
118 for honest, broken friends who allow me to show up honest and broken
119 for birdsong in the rain
120 for soft-spoken travel agents
121 for the joy of brothers
122 for portuguese bean soup, hawaii-style
123 for lisa who prays
124 for peace enough for this day