Altars.

Altars.

Monotony
Like the divot in the wood threshold where I’ve walked a hundred times
Well worn, but beautiful in the way it forms to me
I cross over it to get the last bag of groceries

One more.

One more diaper
One more dish
One more load
One more list

A stale cheerio
Bend over
Pick up
A rainbow of toys
Bend over
Pick up
Is there a pot of gold at the end?
Bend over
Pick up

“Altars,” my mother-in-love calls them,
These small tasks that fill my day
And drain me all the same
“Altars of what?” I complain, as the crumbs reappear
As if by magic

Nonetheless I consider:

Contentment
+ Godliness
= Gain

Consider the gain
Of a crumb-filled kitchen
From this daily bread that never seems to run out
Of an unmade bed
Made for resting and loving and holding on cold nights
Of a heaping pile of laundry
Which clothed and covered and kept us all warm
Of a dishwasher loaded and running
Saving precious time for making a mess of memories with the toddler
Of a trunk full of groceries
I don’t even remember the cost of

Altars.
Tabernacles that testify to His grace and provision
And my sacrifice?
Simply gratitude.

Consider the gain
Then do it again.

Phoenix Feathers Calligraphy for C+C, 2020

This post was written as part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to read the next post in this series “On Repeat.”

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