Sometimes we all just need a space to breathe. A place to waltz in, throw off our muddy shoes, leave on our rancid socks, hang our sweaty hats, and plop onto the couch next to an old friend.
Our hearts are begging to be shared freely, with no risk of judgment or misunderstanding.
With a blanket around our legs, and tea, coffee, lemonade, or ice cream in hand, we find a space to rest our heads, share stories, and hear “me too” over and over again. A place to share someone else’s victories and defeats and see what we can glean from them. To feel safe to come knocking at any time, day or night, and be greeted with a warm smile and a wise word of hope. To shiver in the warmth of the sun and be reminded that even in the midst of pain, life is still filled with acoustic music, cozy candles, and friends we haven’t met yet.
Would you come over to my house? You and I can just cozy up in a sun-filled nook, sometimes with tears in our eyes and other times with laughter in our throats.
The more you get to know my heart, the more I hope you get to know our Father’s. He’s the reason for this, after all. I hope we can invite Him into our messes and trust that He’s going to bring a broom when we can’t make sense of the shattered glasses and a mop when the puddle of our tears is up to our ears. That’s my God, and that’s yours. May we find comfort, laughter, vulnerability, freedom, and more of Him, together. Welcome to my mess, and welcome to ours.