Morning omelettes and fresh flowers

I am grateful for this house. For change that induces panic attacks because without them God's glory would never be magnified. This is home. This messy, sometimes awkward, hipster-wannabe house that has already given us corners to cry in, tables to pray at, and kitchens for our laughter to echo through (and burn entire tea-kettles on).

It's only been a few weeks, but I love this place. The soundproof walls, the mini-dishwasher, the ridiculous wood paneling, the crevices of light that sneak through our dusty blinds. I love the petite bathroom, the overwhelming tree that looks like an untamed bush outside our front door. I love our porch. I love our mismatched furniture, the piles of Bibles everywhere, our shelf of coffee mugs, our board with encouraging messages left for one another at the early hours of the morning.

Today is no exception for gloriously looking at my God who surrounds me with people who value with me. Today Sunny and Matt made a lovely omelette spread complete with crisp apple slices and smoothies from mason jars (told you we are wanna-be hipsters). I am grateful to have these friends that I love and who make me breakfast. Grateful that they laugh at my jokes when they aren't funny and let me endlessly interrupt my own stories with side-notes and tangents that make no linear pathway. It has been a tiring few weeks. Both mentally, emotionally, physically (sprained foot), and spiritually. Things keep piling on. Nights are getting later. Backpacks getting heavier. Spirits threatening to plummet, but I trust my God. I trust Him. Sunny and I had a conversation about our desire to be somewhere else: what does that mean? Is it fleeing from responsibility? Fear? Truth? Yet she said something that quieted my soul. That God knows where He has us, and who are we to feel responsible for where He takes us next? It's not up to me, but to Him. It is not my thoughts anymore, but His. And I am grateful, so grateful, for this Saturday morning to simply be.