My best yes is a whisper brushing up against eternity.
I’m asking God to quicken my heart to the things He has but un-rush me in rest. I’m finally seeing I can have both. Passion and peace, dwelling together.
My best yes is contentment with my ordinary and a vision for God’s Kingdom at my fingertips. Close enough to touch and taste. It’s open eyes and removable scales. It’s seeing and cherishing my small in light of His greatness.
It’s my little obedience to the now with a hefty vision for the things to come. It is the choices made each day that add up to eternity.
It is letting my fingers swim through my daughter’s hair, plaiting it in rows and weaving it together and what is bound is so much more than untangling stray strands, it’s a tapestry of our life together. It is her reflection mirroring mine, modeling the way she will see beauty and have grace for herself, believing herself to be known and loved before the world will try to tell her different.
I choose grace to cover all the flaws I see in myself and remember I am not made wrong.
It is the long drives with the windows rolled all the way down and the bass turned up, thumping my foot against the floorboards, and my hand is enveloped in his and sometimes we talk but sometimes I just lean my head toward the open air and breathe in creation as we speed toward the setting sun, tangerine lighting the sky in wonder.
My best yes is date night when my to-do list is battling the fringes of my mind and I can’t cross off a single thing by applying red lipstick and changing out of yoga pants. But then we’re driving and God paints the sky and I remember why this yes is important even when we’re too broke for dinner out or a movie but we have a little gas in the tank. And I trace the callouses worn into his palms from the years he’s served me, labored for me, provided for me; they feel like home.
He’s shown me faithfulness and what it means to say a vow once but live it every day. And I press my fingers into the band I gave him years ago and am reminded that he will always be my yes. I choose him.
It is grocery shopping with kids in tow. It is dinner menus and bill paying and being put on hold when making doctor’s appointments. It’s prayers whispered and gleaned from status updates, and church bulletins, and the news. It is an inbox I will never tame but I tackle a few at a time anyway. It’s tucking Spiderman blankets tight around little bodies, and the one with all the voices this time mommy, and one more glass of water or hug or nightlight.
It is a house that’s never really company ready but I choose my best yes when I open it to imperfection with the piles of junk mail I should toss immediately but instead stack on the counter two feet from the trash, next to the pile of dishes left over from my morning rush out the door. It is saying you’re welcome in any way. People matter here.
It is loving the hardest people, the ones with sharp edges, the broken and lost not just in the world but in the pew right next to me. It is saying, Lord, send me, even if it means I’ll stay right here in my ordinary. It is saying I am all in.
It is loving my church, the one that fails and is messy and doesn’t get every single thing right according to me. It is the mad dash on Sundays and tip-toeing in 15 minutes late because no matter how early we get up we just cannot get there on time, but we go in anyway and I hush the kids as we take our seats and we’re never sorry that we showed up. It’s potlucks with something I picked up from Costco on the way.
My best yes is not worrying about being just right and instead being just real.
It’s scribbling out my story after kids are tucked when the bedside lamp glows steadily in the darkness bringing my words to light. It is trusting God with book deals and platforms and wild dreams knowing that my saying no now means I’m already living the faith I hope to write about because my yes to God is tested and tried.
It is ordinary and all the things I never wanted. It is exactly what God knew I needed.
It is my open hands grasping the edge of eternity.