Present Over Perfect

of stuff. I find it easier to get dressed in the morning when I
have fewer choices.
I’ve begun wandering through our house, gathering
things up—less, less, less. And in my closet—less, less, less.
I’m creating quiet in our home, on our walls, in my own
closet, and that quiet gave me energy. The simplicity feels
spacious, and inspiring, like I can draw a clean breath.
I’m beginning to learn a new, slower speed, and I can
feel my heartbeat elevate in a stressful way when I feel that
old speed kicking up. I can do it. I’ll always be able to do it,
I suppose. But I don’t want to anymore. The part of me that
craved that breakneck way of living is also the part of me
that was scared, that wanted to hide, that was always
outrunning.
I’m learning to silence the noise, around me and within
me, and let myself be seen and loved, not for what I
produce, but for the fact that I have been created by the
hands of a holy God, like every other thing on this earth,
equally loved, equally seen.
It seems to me that some people got the hang of this
early in life, that they’re just deeply fine and don’t have to
push or prove or earn or outrun. These people, I’m finding,
are unicorns—rare and lucky. Most of us are trying to fill a
wound, trying to outrun something, turning up the volume
to drown out a song that’s been haunting us all our lives.