Monday.

And there’s this tension, you know, between the holy of it and the reality of it. These blessings of family and friends and the great, great wonder of being a part of such beauty and I can hardly wrap my heart around how much I have to be thankful for.

Until I lower my eyes to what is real and in front of me right now. The crumbs on the floor, and the dishes in the sink and the day ahead.

All the ordinary that fills my plate, and I want to scrape it all into the trash.

I tell myself that seeing the holy in the ordinary is the way. Rising above it. Praying through it.

But really, you know, it’s still just dishes waiting to be washed and crumbs waiting to be swept and what is so holy about that.

These are my Monday morning thoughts.

But then I do the washing and the sweeping and I rise above it and I pray through it and if it doesn’t just become this holy thing after all.

It’s a miracle.

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