Sometimes we're open and honest, and anger sometimes spills. Still, much we keep to ourselves because sometimes speaking of it doesn't really seem to matter.
You and God (and I) know the numerous times I've said I wouldn't do this or that again, or the times when I've said I understand only to appear as though I have not a clue what you've actually said or meant.
I've failed you. Frustrated you. Angered you. Provoked you. Hurt you. Questioned you. Doubted you. Disappointed you.
The hope we hold in our hands sometimes seems so pointless and foolish.
We've wanted control and held our lists tight as we've expected much through the years:
Of our days. And our life.
Of our son. And what other people might think.
We are the set of yarns held in tension on a loom, and I feel it -- warped -- as we've been thrown across the years.
God is our weft; drawing through our threads, He weaves us.
It feels so monumental that we've reached these 13 years of our weaved together life. It's been hard and heavy, yet happy and full.
We've had enough years for there to be a small piece of cloth made through us. I see it and hold it. It's truly a thing of beauty weaved. I look at the handfuls of years in our story and see what He's creating from our unique and purposed threads.
On our own or even with our combined efforts we aren't good enough to have weaved what we have. But I see how our daily coming as we are, is enough.
This I can see: Moment-by-moment truly does make a life. Truly, a strong tapestry of grace.
So let's keep making the bed and changing the sheets . . .
washing the dishes and cleaning the floors . . .
Let's keep fixing the meals and paying the bills . . .
and walking the dog and keeping the child in check . . .
Together, let's keep coming here . . .
to these days . . .
to our loom.
Though tired and frustrated and broken and messy, we really are enough.
this is our worship.