I'm cleaning the kitchen floor (forever cleaning this kitchen floor)
and there it is.
She is here.
It is my grandmother's smell.
The smell of her house,
my place of safety,
A place where I didn't have to work
at being loved.
A place where my offers of help would be refused
(until the very end, that is)
because she loved to serve.
Because she loved to love.
Because she loved to love me.
And at times when my world threatens to crash in,
When every part of me is overloaded,
When I have come to the end of myself,
I long to be in this tangible place of refuge,
in that tangible place with her.
the one who has been gone for too long already.
And in this whiff,
in this visit from her,
I am grateful, and then, as though God has brought me a gift
that has been unasked for,
I ask "Why?
Why did you bless me with this gift today?"
And He replies,
In your overwhelm, I want to ease your burdens.
In your rush, I want you to remember.
In the depth of your loss, I want to find you.
And in the haziness of life,
I want to give you clarity, relief.
All this with a whiff
In a moment.
A moment shared with a God who knows what makes me pause.
A moment with questions and thanks and joy and missing that which is no longer.
A moment of peace,
A moment of love.
Even while cleaning the kitchen floor.
Linking with Emily at Imperfect Prose. A place to find inspiration.