Yesterday, on a stroll back from the mailbox, several thoughts rambled through my brain, one after the other like multi-colored marbles.
It’s strange I’m home at this time of day. (Early release)
What time do I need to leave to go pick up the other kid so as not to sit in carline all afternoon?
I have a meeting tonight. What time is that again?
Do I have time to run before church?
What am I going to blog about tomorrow? 31 days is a really long time, Amanda.
Lord, what is my next writing project going to look like?
Where is that Amazon delivery?
Gosh, I love this dress.
Welcome to my brain.
My mind eventually settled on the dress before conveniently wrapping those muddled musings into a blog idea.
The dress—bought on clearance at SteinMart last Spring for like $12.00.
Purple, loose, fallish (praise Jesus for temps that start with 6), roll up sleeves, a cowl neck, and drum roll please . . . pockets. I stuck my hands in these precious folds of fabric as I pondered my fascination with them. Pockets, turns out are a selling point for me.
Cute tunic? Love the color, the cut, the length.
Wait, does it have pockets? It does? Yes, please.
If I could rewind to my wedding day, I would have had the tailor insert pockets into my gown, tipping those 24 hours into blissful perfection. (My husband will now look at me later this evening, raise an eyebrow, and question why he was discarded for pockets when discussing the perfection of our wedding day. Sorry, hon. I owe you a kiss. Don’t wake me up if I’m sleeping, though.)
Here’s the thing.
Pockets are a place of rest. Yes, true, they are a container of sorts, but that’s not why I love them. My black hole of a purse will suffice as a hiding place for all things loosey goosey. When I’m tired of using my hands or simply don’t know what to do with them, I rest them in my pockets.
Apparently my 43 year old hands require naps.
I don’t know about you but I could use more pockets in my life—places to kick back, breathe deep, and abide in who I am in Jesus.
Church (As in the people, not the building)
All of the above can evoke images of soul sitting and/or soul stirring. Either can be good or bad, and we get to choose! Just as our hands can hang by our sides or tuck closely beside us, we have been given the ability to rest, regardless of our circumstances (or our wardrobe).
Pslam 127: 1-2 If God doesn’t build the house,
Amanda Williams is a forty-year old wife and mother of two who can still swing her pony tail and display just a tad of sass. She is also a Jesus loving girl who realizes she is nothing without the One who saved her. Amanda has two degrees specializing in serving students with special needs and is currently working in the field of Leadership Development. She is a Christian author, speaker, blogger, and publisher who loves serving beside her husband at her local place of worship, First Baptist Church of Ocala.