I wasn't halfway up the driveway when I realized it was misting out. Heavily. The gray skies hung low and looming, a damp chill had descended, and it struck me that a morning walk was truly a miserable idea. So, ever looking for excuses, I turned right around and headed back inside.
Truth is, I really didn't want to walk vigorously this morning. I wasn't all that into stretching my muscles or getting the blood flowing briskly through my veins. The cry of my heart was to simply be still. To stay indoors.
And feather my nest.
It wasn't long til the sneakers were off and the fluffy slipper socks on. A mug of tea was brewing, all steaming and flavored with herbs and honey. I sipped as I picked up the phone and checked in with my mom.
And then I began to putter.
For there were sheets and quilts that needed to be pulled up and smoothed out, pillows fluffed and arranged just so. Clothes that needed to be hung up the right way. And clean wash that needed to be tucked away into half empty dresser drawers.
Dishes awaited their trip to the dishwasher and counters needed to be rediscovered under random piles carelessly strewn. Bathrooms awaited a wipe down and floors desperately needed to be reacquainted with the vacuum.
Books and receipts and mail, the week's accumulated odds and ends, begged to be tended to. There was dinner to consider, emails to answer, posts to read. And one to write.
Feathering is this counselor's therapy.
Puttering around as I care for our nest speaks peace to somewhere deep inside. Doing so in solitude and silence restores my energy - physically, mentally, emotionally.
I do love a rainy day at home. And it is in this movement through the most routine of tasks, in the sacred handling of the simple daily chores, that He restores my soul.
I feel His pleasure.
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