For when there's just no margin (Day 3)

The clock flickers from 3:13 to 3:14am and I lay quietly, listening. The rain has finally stopped, carrying a chill and the smell of soggy earth in its wake. We forgot to turn off our string lights on the front porch, and they glitter on the rain-flecked window, twinkling through the slats in our bamboo blinds like a galaxy scattered in our front yard. I think to myself that probably, most likely, profound truth is nestled in the beauty of it. But crying begins again in the next room over, and all my mind can register is "boy that's pretty," followed rapidly on the heels of "boy I'm tired."

Some days, noticing the beauty has to be enough. Some days, I have a work photoshoot and I make a book-page wreath, and I take pictures, break-up fights, and help eight year olds learn to count by tens on our front porch. I steal a little margin by sitting in my room and listen to giggles and protests in equal measure from the cracked window.

Some days the blonde-headed ballerinas throw tantrum-upon-tantrum, and the busy baby refuses to leave his spot on my hip. And so I throw a post for today just under the wire, and refuse to listen to the scoffers in my head who whisper that I nearly missed already and it's only day three.

A sweet friend commented on my first post in this journey and said that they were fighting to protect their hard-earned margin. And I realized as I re-read her words today that I'm going to have to fight for my margin.

And so fight I will, even when it seems hard. When it feels like I just dont have the time or energy to think about margin, let alone fight for it.

But space, margin, room to breathe and think and listen . . . They are worth fighting for. Because when we make space for our souls, space to breathe; then Christ can come in, and everything important happens in the margins of a life that we let fill up with Him.