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Carpet

Wall-to-wall carpet was, at one time, the thing. Saturday nights in 1986, my 8-year old freshly bathed for church self would come running downstairs, and that carpet always welcomed me. While I sat on the floor so my mom could roll my hair in pink sponge rollers for church tomorrow morning, I could feel that mauve carpet making life less harsh beneath me. As I laid on my stomach in front of that big brown wooden television watching Hee Haw at 6:00, I had no need for a blanket because, after all, I had the carpet. Whether Saturdays left me sunburned or worn out from too much yard work or that perfect tired that comes from hardcore playing with the neighborhood kids sunup to sundown, the carpet was a soft place for me to land and ready myself for the Sabbath.  Just a minute ago, as I walked across my beautifully refinished hardwoods in my professionally designed master bedroom, something in my feet craved carpet. With a house full of hardwood, there is not enough of that feeling that says, "This room is for lounging and laying your troubles down." Something in my COVID-tired soul (very different from a sunburned-soul or a playing-outside-soul or even a yard-worked-soul) cried out for that Saturday 6:00 pm softness underneath me.  So many things should be soft. Hot baths, good food, long nights of sleep, coffee...they should all be like little dollops of salve for worn days, but they aren't doing the trick. Even those things feel like bone on bone right now. During these days of isolation, I can't seem to rest while awake like I used to do in my family's great room.  More community. More quiet. Both would help a mom like myself. This desperate waiting for rescue is the path the Israelites were called to walk, the disciples were familiar with, and worldwide Christ-followers are accustomed to. But here in America, our Christian paths often feel more like carpet.  For the moment, our carpet days are behind us and its hardwood time. We have the chance to fellowship in the suffering of Christ in a billion unique moments. One thing to be thankful for: none of them is mauve.


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