When the front door slams and little feet in boots click their heels across my floor, I close my eyes and wait for their voice to set my quiet off kilter.
Snatching bits of quiet between the slamming of the door and the little people who tread heavy and loud into my space, is wearing me thin. Really thin.
I brew more coffee and the little feet in boots click back across the kitchen floor and the front door slams shut once again. I think for a good, long minute before I do what I’ve wanted to do for the last 3 hours: I lock the front door. I smile as my head rests against the door frame.
My weekend overflowed with good friends and God stories and this morning I’m feeling quite full and quite poured out, all at the same time.
I listened more, shared less, and tried hard to hear the words that weren’t being spoken…the heart words that tell the whole truth and echo the God truth tucked away under the ugly mess.
It’s the heart words I turn over and over again in my mind and I hold them up to the God truth that echoes in my own heart. I wrestle with the truth that God is always working things out for His glory and our good because His good for us doesn’t always look the way we think it should.
We ate baked sweet potatoes and she shared and God was there in all the words that she spoke. He was there in the mess and in the laughter and in the mistakes we’ve both made and in all the honesty, God was glorious.
Pure glory in the all the brokenness.