I am linking up with Amber Haines at The Run A Muck only because our “church in the raw” experience of last night has made me all sorts of brave this gorgeous afternoon. And the kiddos are in the side yard picking up pecans and that should buy me an hour. Maybe…
I am joining a few other brave souls who are writing on the prompt Stairs. So, dear friends, I am going to leave my heart searching for an hour and just write. Don’t feel the pressure to read 2 posts from me today! You can skip this one. =)
I sit at the foot of my hundred year old stairs and bask in the light of my favorite window.
Honey pools on the last step of the steep staircase and I love the way the old hardwood soaks it up.
Like it can’t get enough of God’s light. In the light, all its beauty is illuminated.
Under the weight of my fingers, I can feel the ridges in each plank of wood. Each ridge holding secrets of the families before us.
Each stair is marred and splintered with years of love.
I can smell the lemon oil that I rubbed into the wood on Sunday, preparing my house for all the beautiful feet that would climb the stairs to serve our children during our church gathering. I love the smell of lemon and old house.
The white spindles give under my hand as I make my way to the top of the staircase. To the place where all of my people sleep and dream and pile in on top of one another. To the sacred place where whispers tell stories and promises are made. This beautiful, messy place where my greatest gifts grow and figure out who there are and how they fit into our family.
I stand at the top and peer down into the light that is still pooling at the bottom of the stairs. And I’m drawn to it.
Just like the parched wood.
I long to be washed in Light.