I have onion sets and pumpkin seeds, a kitchen with a sandy floor and a banana peel graveyard on my counter.
The sun filters in through smudged windows, stained glass made from small hand prints and squirt guns.
The house is never clean enough, the coffee is never strong enough, my night is never long enough, and I’m getting used to shortages. I’m getting used to dependence.
|grass is evil. the end.|
The scattered sand used to bother me, the testimony to failure. Now I see the mess and I think I’ve accomplished something. Sandy floors signify a full life. I don’t know where my broom is but I know where my friend is, and she’s next to me and she doesn’t say anything about the sand because we all need friends more than we need floors.
I will tell her to take some onion sets and pumpkin seeds, take some stale Easter candy. Sit by me awhile and let’s forget about our shortages while we snack on crusty Milky Ways and talk about temper tantrums. I’ll clean up later, I’ll plant pumpkins soon, and we’ll hold hands through our failures because that’s what God has called us to do.