{provision}

The hours make their way of late.  Long off to bed are my sleeping eyes of blue, those ones I call mine.  Nestled resting from the movement of day, they sleep still and sound and full.  It's in these stolen moments of solace and singularity, I find myself keeping company with home.  My pulse slows to unison with the trestle of our life.  Frequent companions are socks for sorting or counters covered with evidence of bodies in motion.  Bills to pay and once slippery noodles to find on the floor now hardened & crunchy from the night's dinner around our table.  The beams and me breathe.

I make no haste during these times holy & covered.  My toes find peace as they spread out a bit more comfortable to greet the hardwood floor underfoot. My wine glass wanes red droplets from an evening together all under our roof.  I place it along with the cereal bowls, soiled spoons and bread pan into our dishwasher with an unwinding feeling most akin to an exhale. Provision will bring you there.  To that place where all is well.  Sanctified even.  The battle of day is done.  All heads are counted.  All skin made clean.  And the day can breathe beauty into the night.

Late & alone, I find my faults catch up with me.  My dreams speak more vividly too.  Estate-like in size, my night readies itself for rest and reminds my heart of more. I wrestle respectfully and fair with the chase of time.  Questions cover me.

"How are we gonna make it work?"

"Which direction should we take?"

"Am I looking at this from the right perspective?"

"Where can I fit this in?"

"How can we be better?"

 

These inquiries are evidence of human. Honest interrogations are given life in these stolen moments with me and the maker.  He knows the tenseness in my back. Right behind my shoulder and to the right just at the nape of my neck.  He feels my pang of self defeat.  Yes, he seeps inside my soul to unlock the trunk of secrets where my wishes & worries are stowed.  I imagine that's why night unwinds itself around me best.

I fold pants that seem far too long for my sons' legs.  How did they get this big? I think of my husband's smile and how he loves me.  And I pray. I offer up my hopes there barefooted in my kitchen.  Amid the never-ending crumbs of our life's bounty, I am safe.  I can speak.  My sighs of the let-go and my thankful-for-what-is marry.  And softness envelopes me.  I am home.  Home where sleeping blue eyes are still mine and dreams are so very worth the war of doubt.  Provision will bring you there. To that place where all is well. Sanctified even.

.mac

My week's challenge: go here to read more about it.