I just thought this was a wonderful post. Good for those of us who are “Monk”-oriented.
My house is not messy. It is well loved.
This table with paint smears and squished grapes, pock marked by forks – this table tells of fables fashioned by four year old fingers. It speaks of meals eaten together, children at home. My table is not messy. It tells tales of joy.
This floor with mud tracks and dump trucks arrayed underfoot – this floor speaks of a treasure found in the yard and brought in to share with wonder, of cities built and leveled, of civilizations conquered. My floor is not messy. It is the evidence of exploration.
This kitchen with breadcrusts and half drunk cups of water, with pots stacked high in the drying rack, sink stacked high with dishes awaiting their turn in the dishwasher – it speaks of meals together, friends invited, bodies nourished. My kitchen is not messy. It is a hearth of hospitality.
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