Some days are for digging deep into thought, floating on the current of real world problems and questions of war and peace and how on earth can we ever have both?
Some days are meant for the hard work of the soul, for recalibrating, mining truth, crossing our hearts for change and heart-felt compassion, knowing when enough is simply enough.
Scratch that. All days are meant for those things.
But the truth is, the floors still need to be swept. There are so many unholy things wrapped in dust bunnies and hiding under the couch. (I am not speaking figuratively here. Just fyi.)
We're out of milk no matter how hard we wish we weren't, and the sitter comes at 5:15 and, you know, the kids will want dinner.
There are piles of piles and letters to mail and our hearts thumps inside our chests because life never stays simple long enough.
We crave this salad but first it's got to be made and we want our legs to be less wobbly. Our minds, too.
We feel God moving and shaping and pulling us like taffy but for the love, we're finally ready to make the downstairs bathroom look cute.
It doesn't feel necessary to explain (again) why you end up with so many different parts of me. I'm just here in last night's wonky ponytail and my XL Ball State t-shirt, waving my human-flag. I'm raising my mug of Pure Kenya Tea - to all of us!
We're creative and
So we multi-task. We let the deeper business marinate while we take the lighter road.
We live here and there; in our heads and way, way out in the open, where all we are is simply us, fully human, asking questions and doing our best to live out loud.
Don't ever apologize that you don't read enough, you aren't consistent or scheduled enough, your vocabulary isn't big enough, your clothes aren't stylish enough, your home isn't clean or pretty enough, or that you always burn the stew.
What you are is brave and needy and scared and wild.
You're lazy and powerful and so tired.
You're thoughtful and kind and sometimes, you're rude.
We aren't a shiny colony of robots. I don't want that lie. I don't like it and if you try to convince me it's real, you will lose me. We're ridiculous, hilarious, random, shy, way-imperfect people. With the forehead-wrinkles and the kids who went to school in yesterday's socks to prove it.
We are so on it, party people.
We've got this. But only, only, only because we sure know we don't.
So we bare our guts and admit when we're wrong and talk about silly things like George Clooney's baby and what's showing at the movies and how she won't sleep through the night. Oh, and that we will never care enough to scrub our floors as often as we should.
It's Monday, guys.
Be human with me.