These are the days when I sit down for morning prayers at 2 o’clock in the afternoon.

These are the days when ritual and liturgy shape my life but sometimes the rituals are breakfast preparation, bathing tinies, and getting dressed, and the liturgy is in the retelling of “The Three Little Pigs” or the 30th time to say “in-our-family-we-use-our-words-to-love-each-other” to the tinies and the woman in the mirror.

These are the days when I light a candle, even (or maybe especially) in the chaos and noise of family life because Brian is home from his travels and I have a buttoned-up Easter lily on my kitchen table.

These are the days when Joe is building legos by the hour, and Evelynn is filling up an old Dora suitcase with everything she finds interesting, and Anne is taking her sweet-fancy-Moses time getting ready for the day ahead, and I want to sit here, in the slow morning light with my hands wrapped around a cuppa tea for just a while longer because the sun is coming through the windows and I took the time to make loose-leaf this morning.

These are the days for bath water on the floor, and laundry waiting to be folded, and a gone-cold cuppa tea and the sacraments of showing up and paying attention every-day life.

These are the days when I try to do a bit of good, and it feels like one small pitiful candle in an overwhelming darkness of never-ending Fridays.

These are the days when I close the night with confession and prayer, with a plea for Jesus to draw us all into His love and deliver us from fear.

These are the days when the dormant is waking up, when the skeleton trees show faint signs of life for the one that is looking through the grey.

These are the days for those of us who know the desert is actually cold and grey, with hard ground, incline our ears towards the hardly-believable birds now singing and we want to shriek out loud with joy when the first daffodil pokes through cold earth.

These are the days when the death of winter, the stripping away of it all, is humming towards the renewal of spring and we can feel it, feel it right from the dirt and the water, the trees and the very air – life is coming, blooming, and God, it’s beautiful.

This week is a thin place between, isn’t it? Every morning, I read the stories of Holy Week, all over again, and every year, on this day, I reach that line: “Jesus knew that the time had come to leave this world to go to the Father. Having loved his dear companions, he continued to love them right to the end.” And I cry, all over again, right through the stars in my eyes.

These are the days when I think about making homemade bread. If we’re going to read the stories at the supper table, if we’re going to pour out red wine, and if we’re going to remember during the breaking and the tearing and the passing tonight, then I want to remember with bread I’ve made with my own hands, and I want my house to smell like yeast, and I want to hear the story all over again, in the mouths of the ones I love best.

In which we leave a little room
In which I share what I'm into :: March 2013
thank you for sharing...
  • Pin this page4
  • 25
  • I held out until you got to the scripture. #tears

  • ChristieEsau

    Beautiful, as always. Perhaps (as I) you should be reading The Quotidian Mysteries.

  • pastordt

    Thank you for this beauty today, Sarah B. This is our story, this is our song and I want to sing it well today and tomorrow and right on through Sunday and beyond.

  • This do in remembrance of me and what a remembrance this is. Yes, might the Body of Christ fill the body and the belly full of goodness so that the darkness can’t get in. I truly loved this, especially the part about Jesus loving his companions till the end. Oh, how He loves. Thanks for these words. They’ve added more sweet to the bittersweetness of this Holy week. I can’t wait to celebrate across the miles with you on Sunday. Truth be told my favorite day is the Monday after Easter when we get to walk forward into the future knowing that He is there.

  • … and Sarah, these are the days when I’m feeling just a bit like Doubting Thomas

  • John 13:1 is absolutely my favorite verse! Love this post.

  • Diane

    Thank you Sarah! What a special time of year. Have a lovely time with your family remembering what Christ did for us.

  • Handsfull

    Beautiful… as always!

    I live in the other hemisphere, and we are slowly making our way into autumn, rather than spring. So for me, I’m looking at my kitchen bench full of beans, tomatoes, sweetcorn and courgettes that need preserving, and stepping round bags full of peaches and apples… watching the leaves slowly turning and falling… noticing the dark leaving later and coming again sooner… feeling the chill in the air in the mornings and wondering how long it will be before we start lighting the fire again… and thinking all the while of my Jesus and how He allowed Himself to be the Seed, and we are the harvest. And listening to my children squabbling over what (to me) is so insignificant, and wondering if He felt similar feelings while listening to His disciples!

  • Love! Thank you!

  • Beautiful. Thanks for sharing.

  • Pingback: Weekend links | Simple Mom()

  • Pingback: What I’m Into – March 2013 | TABULA RASA()

  • Me too. Right there with you. Living these days.

  • My life too. Thank you for describing it clearly and blessing me this Easter Sunday late night. He is Risen! 🙂

  • You eloquently put into words how I feel most hours of the day.

  • melissa beaver

    this is just absolutely beautiful. honestly, every time i read your words i’m moved to pour out my own! i cannot wait for your book!