**This post was inspired by Intentional By Grace’s “Lest I Forget These Ordinary Days”, which I first read a couple of years ago, but which still speaks to me daily!
The breeze picks up leaves and drags them lazily across the lawn. The smell of coffee and freshly baked bread linger pleasantly in the air. The clean laundry sits forgotten on a chair, waiting for me to iron out its imperfections. My own imperfections long for that ironing out, but I choose to embrace them, each crease and fold, as I see how beautifully and painfully they are, well, me.
The dishwasher beeps, begging me to empty it, shrill and persistent, yet somehow it is also a pleasant sound: a reminder of a blessing I take for granted. The cat brushes against my leg and fixes me with an inquisitive stare that speaks of food, attention, play. Or possibly: “You’re in my spot.” She expects telepathy. I reach out to stroke her and she moves away, realizing once again that I am sadly lacking in this gift.
A tall tree, dressed up in pink and white blossom, offers me shelter from the heat, her branches wrapped over me like a protective mother holding out the sunscreen. I take in her springtime beauty, envying her easy self-knowledge, her roots firmly planted as her arms reach up to heaven. I understand Emily P. Freeman’s fascination with trees.
I stretch out and breathe in deeply, inhaling the warm sweet air, the smell of blossom and rosemary and freshly cut grass.
I close my eyes and lift up a prayer, a “thank you”, a sigh of worship. I open my heart and welcome in peace, allow Love to flow in until I am overflowing and need to let her flow out again.
I allow myself to soak in this rhythm of love and life and grace.
The to-do list beckons. The chores call out to me. The day pressures me to hurry, to get started.
I smile.
“One more minute,” I say.
The impact of the things I do today will be directly influenced by the moments I choose to be.
There is holiness in the everyday, saints who fold laundry and wipe down surfaces. Those moments matter. But it is hard (some might say impossible) to extend what we have not first received ourselves. There is no breath to breathe out if we have not first breathed in.
There is extraordinary grace in the ordinary days, the ordinary moments. I breathe it in, I write them down. Lest I forget…
