Tomorrow, a dear friend and I will be facilitating a women’s retreat at my little homestead. I am so excited to host my first workshop since we remodeled our home and revamped the gardens, and yet, last night, I sat in my kitchen looking around wondering, “Where do I even begin?”
It seems that when I prep for folks coming over, I see all the little things that I overlook each day–the paint chipping off the mirror frame in the bathroom, the dying vines on the trellises, the dust bunnies under the pew bench. I start making lists of all that I can possibly get accomplished and work up until the time people arrive.
My place looks great, but me, not so much. I’m tired, scattered, and “glowing.”
I guess the same can be said about my own exterior. As I age, I notice the deepening of the laugh lines, the selectivity of my memory, and yes, even the impact of gravity on sights unseen. I begin to think of myself as a “fixer upper” and make mental lists of what I can do to restore or renovate the surface.
And yet, I find as I age and grow more comfortable in my own skin, I have grown weary of that cycle. I want to “just be” with Cameron, to be invited into the warmth of her spirit, the tenderness of her heart, and the wisdom of her experience. In middle age, who’s got the energy to do all that fixing up, anyway?
Last night, as I walked from room to room last night surveying what could be accomplished instead of what should be accomplished, I had an epiphany. Coming to Growing Grace Farm for these women isn’t about painted bathroom frames, neatly tended plants, or newly polished floors (swept, perhaps, but not polished), it will be about resting in the Holy Spirit, restoring one’s self, and connecting with other women. The gifts that lie inside our home. The peace that comes from within.
My prayer is that the same could be said for our selves as well.