Another Monday.  I begin behind all over again.  House cluttered.  Lengthy reading assignments to conquer. Trash overflowing.  Dishwasher in need of emptying.  Dirty dishes waiting in the sink.  Laundry needing to be washed.  And, I woke up late, and it is time to start school, so I will begin behind again. I'm overwhelmed, but trying not to let the negative thoughts consume me.

We sit down at the table, journals ready, Bible at my side, and we bow our heads.  I sigh deep and long before beginning our school day prayer.  And, as the waves of doubt overwhelm me, I call out and beckon my God come near.  I pray that He will be with us, on our minds, in our conversation, in all we do and all we are.  I pray that He will fill our minds, all that we learn, that He will be in and among us as we walk through our day.  I beg Him invitation to please come and fill us, fill our home, fill our hearts.  Tread our concrete floors, our God. Even in the mess that surrounds me, the mess that we are, come, Lord, come.  The boys send up prayers for family and friends, and we dive into our day.

And, somewhere between math and grammar, spelling and writing, I have this funny little thought.  If I have invited my God here.  If I have asked His Spirit to fill this place, to fill my home, then could it be that this place, this home where we live, where we learn, where we grow, could it be that this place is holy?

Could it be that this is holy ground?

Ground where children learn to help each other, learn to love each other, learn to count and sing their ABC's.  This place where hungry children are fed, where we pray and sing, this place where hour after hour we learn through squabbles and struggles how to give selflessly and love unconditionally.  Where Bible stories are heard for the first time and scripture is memorized. This place where sports are played, and cookies are baked.  Where books are read, tears are shed, and spankings are given.  Where babies are nursed and life-long friendships are formed.  Where direct objects and predicate nominatives are differentiated and round pregnant bellies are treasured and prayed over. Where diapers are changed, old dogs are loved, and little eyelids fall gently in the early afternoon.  Where Daddy kisses Mommy often and sweetly while little children watch, where boo boos are cared for, and children are rocked to sleep.  Where foreheads are kissed, hands are held, and juice cups are filled.  Where little ones are welcomed into their parents warm bed in the middle of the dark of night and where the same old casserole is made and served with love for the millionth time. This place where children are uniquely and preciously loved with a fierce, unrelenting love.  And, souls like gardens are tended and pruned. Where Christ is uplifted and given precedence.  Could it be that this place is holy?

Maybe I should take off my shoes?

Could these crumb covered floors be holy ground?

Could the clutter be evidence of love...

And, maybe my mess...

And, just because it isn't a blazing bush where God speaks so loud that I can literally hear His voice...

Maybe, just maybe, His presence is here just the same...