Will I move to costal breezes or will I stay in the fiery furnace I call home?
Can we even sell our house?
Can I even survive packing?
What should I be doing? What's going to happen? Where will we end up?
All questions. Unanswered.
Here's what I do know:
This morning I woke up and my sheets were soft and my pillow was magnetic.
I smelled fabric softener. God loved me in the moment, His gifts are good.
I found myself sipping a soda fresh from the fountain with my mom visiting. I watched my little baby rock himself on a wooden rocking horse, proud of his achievements. Everyone giggled and I stepped back to see the reality of now.
God loved me in the moment, His gifts are good.
I sat on the porch in the evening dusk, with a boy in a blue plastic swing. The air was oppressively hot but the bubbles still floated high in the sky. I froze time and focused, and all that I saw was a cute husband with a hose, spraying rainbows at the grass.
God loved me in the moment, and His gifts are good.
I don't know the grand scheme of things. I don't know where my life is going. I don't know what tomorrow holds.
Right now there's an orange glow in the living room from a cozy lamp, sleeping babies down the hall, breathing loud enough for only their mother to hear, and a husband on a mint chip ice cream run. We don't know where we are going, but we know where we are.
