take care of what you have.
take care of what you have.
take care of what you have.
take care of what you have.
take care of what you have.

this has become my summer mantra.

take care of what you have.

coming to me most clearly as i am scraping paint off of our old house, exposing the wood that some kind and determined souls nailed together in 1919. as sweat poured down my face but being too covered in paint dust to want to wipe it off. as my hands blistered and the house looked bigger than it ever had before. as i sat with the news of a woman my age who died. a woman i didn’t know but was inspired on how to live and how to die from her caring bridge site.

take care of what you have.

your home, your body, your children.
your toilets, your floors, your spirit.
your kitchen sink, your bedroom floor, your windows.
your hair, your fingernails, your clothes.
your toys, your books, your shelves.
your church, your voice, your neighbors.
your toothbrushes, your chickens, your dog.
your calf, your snake, your tomato plants.
your friendships, your marriage, your strangers.
your stained tea towels, your ripped skirts, your holy socks.
your flowers, your transplanted plants, your grass.
your mailbox, your porch, your blankets.
your children, your children’s bodies, your children’s souls.

take care of what you have.

be careful.
be intentional.
be patient.
be calm.
be present.

it’s crazy what time alone, tepid coffee, public radio folks determining the temperature to be 105, the west side of a house that has seen decades of sun and wind, steady interruptions from the children, crowing from the rooster, wilting of the plants, and tired sighs from the husband can muster up in me.

take care of what you have.

okay.

you too.

and blessed be.