Dropping my keys on the kitchen counter, I paused to soak in the gift of silence. My morning carpool duty was complete, and now I could think clearly for the first time in two days.

I glanced at what Monday morning had in store for me. The dishes piled high in the sink. Evidence of the weekend carved a trail from the garage door, through the kitchen, all the way to the stairs. A cereal spill from breakfast remained. The chores undone laughed in my face.

I welcomed the blanket of silence and let it quiet the laughing chores. The chime of a text interrupted the stillness and I reached for the phone. A picture my husband captured over the weekend greeted me. Those smiles, those eyes. They made me want to linger longer in that silent, messy kitchen. I began scrolling. Picture after picture of the weekend.

Because of the quiet, I was able see the beauty of the moments captured in time. I was in a place that offered space to see what I was unable to see while living in real time. In all honesty, I was not remembering that weekend to be as sweet as the pictures showed. In reality the weekend hadn’t lived up to my expectations – far from it. Sibling bickering seemed to find fresh grounds to explore. Our schedule created tension and exhaustion for each of us. We had little grace to offer each other.

The pictures told a different story. There were no pictures of the fights we fought, the hurtful words we shared, or the tears we shed. If I were to write a story of our weekend from the pictures, it would read different from the one written from the actual lived-out experiences. Like two separate narratives.

Yet my life does not consist of separate narratives. They overlap, weave in and out, and tell stories between the lines. My life tells stories in the stories. And so does yours.

Sometimes it’s hard to clear the ugly to see the sacred. So I prayed, ‘Lord, I want to see the treasure in the moment – not only when it has passed. Let me see the sacred right in the middle of the chaotic messes we create.’

I left my messy kitchen and strolled to the rose bushes that taunt me with their black spotted leaves. With a newfound resolve, I began cutting bright pink roses in full bloom. So what if the leaves have black spots? So what if the bush has a fungus?

No longer will I let you, fungus, keep me from fully enjoying these blooms. I won’t wait until the fungus is gone. I will fill my vases with the beauty of the blooms right now. Black spots and all. I will fill that mason jar so full of pink blooms, you will hardly notice the black spotted leaves. In time, with love and attention, we will work on that fungus. The black spots will disappear and only the beauty and fragrance of the rose will be remembered.

Our lives are a beautiful work in progress. Sometimes the black spots are more prominent than at other times, but the blooms still bloom. When our lives bear black spots, we still radiate beauty and fragrance when we are positioned in Him.

Love and faithfulness meet together; righteousness and peace kiss each other. Psalm 85:15

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