My voice is hoarse from too many days of shouting too many directions too many times to students who should for sure know better. I am tired, and just trying to get my girls to bed on time. Christian is out-of-town and this solo parenting thing, even for just three days, is hard.

Beautiful, beautiful, Jesus is beautiful.

Instead of melodic I just belt loud. Loud and forceful is all I’ve got left. Nuanced has never been my strength anyway. The kids join me getting the words wrong. I am surprised by the catch in my throat and the tears in my eyes. I have forgotten that this too is holy ground.

Jesus makes beautiful things of my life.

I think of Holy ground in dark auditoriums, hands raised for the Lord. In quiet moments with a hot cup of tea, my Bible open in front of me, proud of myself for managing to get up before everyone else. I think of conferences where I hear words from the Lord and moments at night where I can practically feel His arms around me.

Carefully, touching me. Causing my eyes to see.

I am learning that this too is holy ground. This chasing the naked babies around the circle, wrestling them into their pajamas, being so bone tired you can feel your eyelids trying to shut. Jesus doesn’t wait for a conference or an auditorium to make my life beautiful. He meets me on my kitchen floor, screaming children and wet diapers, and bedtime battles and Jesus.

Jesus makes beautiful things of my life.

My life. He makes beautiful things of my life. Holy ground is everywhere. Jesus isn’t waiting to make beautiful things of my life. Right here. Right now. Let me take off my shoes. This too is holy ground.