Tired eyes lean heavily against my face. Expectations press into me. Yesterday. Today. Tomorrow. I feel their presence sinking in deep. The whirl of the dishwasher in the distance reminds me that things can change. Hot water soaks and moves and breaks away the memory of what was there. The dishes will return from where they came. White. Clean. Ready. I take a moment. I pray for the water of the Holy Spirit to agitate my insides. To slough off the remnant of the leftover muck. To return me to the place of freedom, peace, and gratitude. Dwelling. Ready.
My daughter fell asleep too early last night. Curled close next to me as I strummed my guitar. Fading sun casting golden shadows. Sounds of safety and warmth. I laid her head down on her pillow, pulled the blanket up close, and gently closed the door. Many moments later, from the room with no more glistens of gold, with nothing but darkness, the sounds of panic broke the stillness. I returned to her, throwing open the door, stepping into her fear. I stroked her face. Spoke to her. Kissed her. Still fear. So I pulled her out from that place. Body tense with tear drenched skin. I took her to a place of light and sight. To where her body would waken to the familiar sounds of the evening. Slowly her body calmed and her breathing steadied. Her skin dried. After peace returned to her face, my man carried her back to that place where she could return to safety and rest, knowing now that the night had taken over and all was as it should be.
Sometimes I fall asleep. In the warmth. With the streaks of light across my life. And when I wake, life is not where I left it. Darkness has crept in and the blinds have been drawn. Where is His nearness?… The sound of His presence?… The draw of His breath singing that familiar tune? Panic sets in. I search. I fear. I scream for understanding. Alone. But, then the door flings open and He draws me near. He draws me out. Carried to a place of light. Truth. And I calm as I awaken to the place of remembrance. The place where I know He is with me. Even in the darkest of spaces. “He will bring me out into the light; I will see his righteousness.” Micah 7:9
The familiar chime echoes from the dishwasher, letting me know I now have a job to do. The water has done its job. White. Clean. Ready. I receive the gift of this moment… The transition from dark to light. And with this, the heaviness lifts.