The Smell of Dog Pee Pushed Me On

I begin to clean my room. 

The room I have occupied since my wedding night. 

The room I have not cleaned since before the accident. 

Piles of stuff. 

Dirt. 

The smell of dog pee. 

I know it's in there somewhere. 

Yes. 

It's gross. 

And that's what I have been living in. 

I can barely begin to clean. 

I can't stay focused on anything. 

I try. 

I have help sometimes. 
A friend who is quiet and gentle comes to be by my side. 

We clean or organize and then it seeps in again. 

I hate living like this. 

So I begin. 

In my room. 

I have piled letters, cards and books. 

From so many. 

I don't want to part with them. 

Some I do not even remember receiving. 

Book after book. 

Slowly, I begin to read the words sent to my family. 

It is overwhelming.
Even two years later, I find it hard to believe. 

I feel the fog descending. 

I focus back to my task. 

I clean the books. 

I re-pile them. 
I press on. 

I vacuum and put away clothes. 

I start to make a pile to throw away, to give away. 

It feels good. 

Layers of dirt and grime. 
Removing that awful smell. 
Being cleaned. 
I sort through envelopes. 
The programs to Elijah's funeral. 
More books on grief. 

I keep cleaning. 
I press on. 

Living with grief is not easy. 
The loss of a child threatens to pull you under at any moment. 
But all of life is like that. 
Unless we surrender. 
I keep cleaning. 
I press on. 

As I clean I can't help but think of the shed blood of the lamb. 
The cleansing that was done, Once, for all. 

How wonderful it feels to have a clean house. 

How greater still. 
To have a clean, redeemed soul. 

Happy Cleaning. 

Psalm 51:10
Create in me a pure heart, O God, 
and renew a steadfast spirit within me.

The Routine A Farm Life Brings Day #19 of Thankfulness

I turn on the fire,
A hot cup of coffee in hand.

I sit.

I have started the laundry. 

The sound comforting and steady. 

The warmth from the fire removes the chill from the room. 

These plunging temperatures and fierce wind 

make it hard for this old farmhouse to stay warm. 

The day looms before me. 

Choices to make. 

A life to live. 

Up at the barn the routine of milking continues. 

Cow after cow. 

Chore after chore.

Steady.

There is something soothing about routine. 

It is the way of the farm life. 

Never changing; yet always different. 

The night the oldest farm boy called home;
 the tyranny of chores pulled and propelled us forward. 

The dark of the night; the routine - imperative.

Until the dawn broke.

The routine that continues to move us forward also includes 

 bended knee to the King of Glory and time in the Ancient Word. 

Much time spent on our knees as we plead before the throne of grace 

for strength to move through this day. 

I don't know what this day will hold. 

I can't be sure of anything. 

Yet one thing. 

Through it all God will never, ever leave my side. 

Isaiah 41:10

So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. 

I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

30 Days of Thankfulness~

I am thankful for:

The grace in routines
warm spaces in chilly seasons
mercies that are new every morning
quiet
the Ancient Word that breathes life into my aching heart
truth; unwavering, solid
bended knees in prayer
the hope in Christ
this drafty old house and the sounds that are soothing and comforting
the lessons I am learning as grief takes it's course
eyes to see beauty 
the opportunity for my farmer to answer the call for a missions trip
Hoss and his family and the deep, deep joy they bring
opportunities to give and serve 
God, who never leaves us nor forsakes us
the routine of bowing low each morning and starting the day with the holy

The Revelation Song
Kari Jobe

You are my everything
And I will adore you