Let me just say it loud for the people in the back: I love Saturdays.
Not the jam-packed, errand-running, kid-juggling, appointment-keeping kind. I mean the real Saturdays—the soul-repairing, blanket-wrapped, deep-clean-the-baseboards-while-dancing-to-1980s-pop kind.
And this Saturday? This Saturday understood the assignment.
It started slow. Shawn and I slept in and snuggled like two people who have fully accepted that we are in our Cozy Era. Zero guilt. Zero alarms. Ten out of ten, would recommend.
Then something magical happened. You know that moment when your body says “You could just stay horizontal forever,” but your brain suddenly whispers, “Clean. All. The. Things.”
Yeah. That voice won.
We deep cleaned the downstairs like we were prepping for a surprise visit from Joanna Gaines. Baseboards? Wiped. Stair rails? Sparkling. Under the couch? Well… let’s just say we found some things we thought were lost to the ages. RIP to the Nerf dart, half a fruit snack, and three unmatched socks.
And the fridge. Oh, the fridge. Cleaning it out was like opening the tomb in Indiana Jones—except instead of ancient artifacts, it was a science experiment that might have once been lasagna. We made it out alive. Barely.
Laundry got done. (Cue the choir of angels.)
Easter decorations made their grand reappearance. (Yes, I did talk to my pastel bunny like he was a long-lost friend. No regrets.)
Then I lit a candle, sat down to crochet, and just exhaled.
And now?
We’ve got March Madness on, Crash is yelling at his game like he’s the coach and the ref and the commentator, both dogs are snuggled on my legs like warm, slightly judgmental throw pillows, and the wind outside is howling like it’s auditioning for a haunted house.
But inside? Inside it feels like peace.
Cozy, clutter-free, candlelit peace.
You know what all this reminded me of? The parable of the ten virgins (Matthew 25). You know the one—five were wise and brought oil for their lamps, and five… well, they were basically the ones who show up to a potluck with a single napkin. Unprepared.
Lately, I’ve been trying to keep oil in my lamp—not just spiritually, but emotionally and mentally too. And weirdly enough, that oil looks a lot like candlelight, clean countertops, deep talks with Crash, and dogs on my lap while Shawn and I cheer for teams we just decided to love today. Not really, we are loyal fans.
Then I thought about the parable of the sower (Matthew 13). Life’s seeds get scattered everywhere—some land on rocky ground, some get choked by weeds, and some grow deep roots. Saturdays like this? They help clear the weeds. They give me space to root down again. And yeah, sometimes rooting looks like vacuuming under furniture and whispering sweet nothings to my label maker. Don’t judge me.
And just for good measure, let’s toss in the parable of the talents (Matthew 25 again—Jesus was on a storytelling roll). Some days I feel like I’m just trying to be faithful with my little handful of talents—motherhood, faith, home, healing. Some of them still feel raw and bruised. But others? They’re blooming.
My past has storms. Some seasons, the wind howled louder than it does outside my window tonight. But here I am—still standing, still loving, still learning to laugh at burnt dinners and dogs that think my legs are mattresses.
So if you’re here reading this, friend, I hope you feel like you’re sitting on my couch right now. I’d hand you a warm blanket and ask if you want tea or a Coke (or both—no judgment). I’d show you the candle I’m obsessed with and ask what fills your lamp.
Because more than anything, I want this blog—Hope After the Storm—to feel like that safe, cozy place in your week. A place where we laugh about leftovers, cry about hard seasons, and remember that we’re all just trying to be the wise virgins with our lamps full, the good ground where good things can grow, and the faithful stewards who show up with what little we have and say, “Here, Lord. I’m trying.”
And if you ever need help cleaning under your couch, I come with a vacuum, two dogs, and an impressive candle collection. You bring the snacks. Deal?
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