Even Here

I did not plan it this way. Honestly! Each week’s drawing prompts which I randomly listed for us to sketch every day, somehow fit into a category. I marveled at how this week’s prompts all had something to do with somewhat hidden things– stuff we put behind doors, cover with socks and shoes, stash in a drawer, put under a bed, or rarely notice behind the shower curtain.

I kept thinking…Here? Could it be that even here I might find something lovely? Could it be that even in these places where we never show our guests, or perhaps even take note of ourselves, that even here might be something for me. Something of beauty or meaning, or just simply colorful, or worthwhile.

While it may be stretching it to say that God lives under my bed, I do affirm that He deigns to be in the dust bunnies of my life. His presence can be found amongst the junk, in frigidly cold recesses of my heart, in a meager pantry (or a full one), and even in unsuspecting places ready to rain down blessings on my head. This coming week, we will remember with gratitude Christ’s washing of his disciples’ feet. Even there He would lower Himself to show us His love…so amazing…so divine.

I don’t know what all this drawing of the ordinary does in you. For me, I marvel. Could it really be that in the humblest of places, Christ’s presence abides and perhaps even shines all the brighter for the ordinary-ness of its surrounding? Why do I constantly look for Him in the big things? Why am I still thinking it must be in the grand, the accomplished, the organized, the neat, the pretty, and the spectacular where I will find Him at work? Every day of this pilgrim journey through life, and especially here during Lent, I draw breath at the wonder of spectacular grace in ordinary places.

I have recently been exposed to a translation of the Bible called The Message. I am enjoying its ordinary, everyday manner of speech. This passage encourages me in the ordinary walk of life we are privileged to journey:

“So here’s what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your everyday, ordinary life — your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life — and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for Him.” -Romans 12:1

Offer the God of the Universe a shower head?

Yes. Gratitude for cleansing me.

Offer the Savior what’s under my bed?

Yes. Even in lowly places He deigns to dwell.

Offer the Creator my feet?

Yes. In service to Him who made me and others.

Offer the Lord my pantry and the stuff in my freezer?

Yes. In thanksgiving for His provision.

Offer the Lord the junk in my drawer?

Yes. Because He can use anything to display His beauty.

We have one more week of seeking Him in ordinary things through Lent. I, for one, hope to continue looking for God, even in…especially in!… unlikely places.

Buen Camino!




I wonder.

Is this what it means to walk the straight and narrow path? ‘Cause that’s surely what it feels like…meandering, wandering (aimlessly, it feels) toward an end or purpose I know I have, but which often eludes me in experience. Is being a pilgrim just this? Putting one foot in front of the other, setting each foot down where you think it needs to be for the moment, trusting you’ll know where to step next when that moment comes?


Every day I make something. A drawing. Maybe two. A few stitches. Some penned lines. But none of it seems to be moving toward a grand target or goal.

Every day I do stuff. Lots of stuff. Make meals. Drive a kid to band camp. A load of laundry. Maybe two. But again, none of it seems to be taking me in a piercingly focused direction. Days upon days of wandering. A wilderness of it.


It is still summer. Summer always feels like this to me. Once the school year gets underway, there’s at least a sense of beginning and ending, of quarters and semesters, of holiday breaks and weekends. It’s the very thing I’m sick of come the end of May. And now, the extended break from a school-day schedule feels like a wilderness. I’m sounding a lot like an Israelite.

Yet it helps me to grasp this. To realize again, every day, that I’m a wanderer, a pilgrim in the in-between. When I start longing to “go back to Egypt”, that’s my cue that I’m right where I’m supposed to be for now, sojourning in the land of the Now and Not Yet. My job is to keep on walking, keep on making, and curb the grumbling.

Yes, these are pilgrim days for sure.