Home. this is my view every night. But this night my husband had just hung these signs, and I walked in to see my oldest son snuggled in to his dad as they read about Jesus and His cross. My youngest can never sit still long enough, but he yells “Jesus!” as He walks out of the grave in His white robe. Jesus defeated the grave. The enemy has no hold on us. And we are free.

I have a mustard seed growing into a tree tattooed on my arm. My grandma’s mustard seed was tied to my wedding bouquet. These last few weeks I’ve been reading and hearing multiple sermons on seeds planted. Having vision and faith, remembering what the Father has spoken over your life, and not running when the vision isn’t coming together the way we thought it would. The Father is always visual and repetitive when He speaks to me. Probably because I question Him the first and even second time He says something.

I was cleaning the men’s bathroom at church the other morning, and with each piece of toilet paper I swept up, I just felt joy within me to be doing it. At first I wondered, why is the men’s bathroom full of random pieces of toilet paper everyyyywhere? But I literally smiled and sang a song the whole time. Because we are planted. Because I love the people we are spoiled to do life with, here and now. Because THIS, here, now, this home, these children, this family, this city, these people, feels like our burden. We are burdened for this. These seeds. This plant. Because the Father is refining us and we are trusting Him with all of the little seeds.

They are rooting. And we are tending. I love home. I love this vision. I love how nothing goes unturned with the Father. He has His hand in it all. with each beginning He uses, so long as we remain planted.



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