I clean the kitchen floor and think that I will
scrub away these same footprints off this
sweet patch of life for years. Lord-willing.
he’ll come home tonight and I will
make him his favorite dinner and I will
kiss him goodnight. Lord-willing.
she’ll be in kindergarten this fall and I will
teach her how to read. Lord-willing.

joy simmers over now and again and I
keep a Lord-willing there ready
to tamp down whatever it is that might just
disappoint after all
words intended to open my hands instead
tightening my grip on some kind of shield.
where did I learn this bit of vocabulary?
Reverend Alden said this in a
prairie schoolhouse, maybe or
perhaps I soaked it in from the apostle James.
he didn’t turn it into an interjection, though, and
certainly didn’t mean it as a divine jinx.

Lord-willing, I say, have said, will say
but still I stare with jaw agape, heart
stopped when He does something,
Lord-willingly, human-impossibly
and I like the way it turns out.

I’m tired of trying to hold back the desires
I think He gives me from catching up with
His ways, higher than mine
so I suppose I might just sit here in the
kitchen for a moment and let His goodness swirl around me like the
suds on my floor.
I am a bit dizzy.

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Posted by Megan

Hey there, I’m Megan! You can usually find me dreaming up a new project with my husband, trying to figure out homeschool with my two girls while my little boy explores the pots and pans cabinet, or excavating a pile of laundry with coffee in my hand. We live in New England and our dog is named Moose.

Connect: @lilac.and.sparrow