Sanctuary

Am I the only one who feels compelled to cultivate beauty when life is hard?

It feels akin to nesting, this need for order.

Grief, illness, permanent wounds, and weariness of mind and body leave us with what Scripture calls a downcast soul and a spirit of heaviness.

The future, once bright, now includes eventualities that simply cannot be altered or avoided.

They threaten peace.
They sap strength.
They lurk.
They linger.

Can you relate?

We dream of brighter days, but awaken, instead, to grayscale ones, with the vibrance we once enjoyed now muted in ways we never anticipated.

So, we muddle through. What matters most suffers first as weariness unintentionally reorders our priorities.

The tyranny of the urgent drowns out the whispers of God.

Our 𝑇𝑜 𝐷𝑜 list eclipses our 𝑇𝑜 𝐵𝑒 list.

We rush through days that don’t seem near long enough and fall into bed exhausted, only to start it all over again.

If loss has taught me anything, it is that I cannot mend all that is broken.

I can, however, cultivate space for the One who crafts beauty from the shards.

I can’t rewrite my story, but, even now, He is at work on the magnum opus that is my life.

I miss Him, though.

𝐼 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠 𝐻𝑖𝑚.

That’s the thing.
That, I see now, is the longing at the heart of it.

Too sick to seek Him. Too overwhelmed to be still. Too weary to keep asking. Too afraid to really trust Him, I left Jesus behind somewhere along the way.

I redecorated my room. I reclaimed order, but as the room began to take shape, I realized that the undertaking was much more about sanctuary than it was about sleeping.

I realized that what I was ultimately after was not redecoration, but invitation. The kind I respond to, by the way, not the kind I extend.

After all, He’s been there all along, just waiting to be chosen.

I am so grateful for His patience.

I am also aware that a redecorated room won’t heal a wounded heart. I know all too well that window dressings won’t shield me from what awaits on the other side.

I cannot choose what comes into my life, but I can make space for the One who walks with me through it.

Maybe beauty was never meant to be a remedy, but simply a reminder that brokenness is not the only reality that exists.

Perhaps that is what I have been creating all along: Not just a beautiful bedroom, but a sanctuary.

A place where my heart remembers what suffering so easily makes me forget.

That I am not, nor have I ever been, alone.

“When I remember Thee upon my bed, and meditate on Thee in the night watches. Because Thou hast been my help, therefore in the shadow of Thy wings will I rejoice.”
~ 𝐏𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝟔𝟑:𝟔,𝟕