Wise women have been speaking in my ears lately. One is ever counting and counting the messy and marvelous glories of her life, believing that gratitude to the Maker of all says YES. YES to the crumbs underfoot and soaring wings above. Yes to tears and belly laughs and golden fields washed in low light or grey mists of rain. Numbered and beyond numbering her yeses are her thank yous and her thanks are affirmation. She does not let Him go and He blesses her.
Another woman has known seasons of silence and of speaking, of writing and knitting and her own tears. She has tapped keys and sent ink slanting across paper. She has come back to her screen to send messages praising the One Who made her, for He did make her to speak with the voice she has. And she tells us, we have His fingerprints all over us. Our yeses will not sound like our sister’s yes, or our neighbor’s yes, or our best friend’s yes. But she encourages us, to let our story into the world, to write and photograph and diaper and knit and knead and tidy and smile and clasp hands, all to His glory.
I’ve been listening. I’ve been asking questions, about community and the Internet, about my time and words and images, about my timid own self. Sometimes my words only seem the echoes of what so many others have said better. And the world connected by all these flickering screens can seem odd and ephemeral at times, and at others, all too real and frightening. But these women, and many others whose words have reached across many niles into my Carolina home, they convince me that this is a world into which the mundane glory of an ordinary life given by God, held up to the light can be spoken.
First there was this little place, traded in for another. And now with a creak and a gulp, I am opening a door into this new space. For truth be told, silent or tapping on my keys, I am still captivated by my daily portion. Sometimes I am musing and mulling, sometimes I am smiling over a thrifted find or the humor that rises to the top of family life. Sometimes I wrestle questions of faith, sometimes the foibles of baking with yeast. I used to feel this meant I did not know how to blog at all, but now I know it is just that this is what is on my plate. This is what I say my yes to. This is what God’s glory can gleam through if I ask, if I only ask.
Since I was a little girl, playing with words and making art has been my YES. In this space, in the mundane and marvelous, the transcendent and the typical, I will say yes. Yes and thank you.