Strokes

There is a cross above our front door, stenciled black on the flat green wall. It was the former owner's, her personal reminder of grace or god or love or sin, perhaps instead of one she could wear around her neck. Perhaps these fifteen foot ceilings felt like a cathedral to her, majestic and meant for symbols of something higher. It's the most detailed piece in this house; elsewhere, lines are sloppy, and brushstrokes tell of laziness. Perhaps, like Jesus supposedly saved our sins, the mere presence of the cross saved her from finishing edges. The end outweighed the living.

I've begun our claiming. First, azaleas in the front bed, hostas on the corners. Then impatiens where once were weeds out back and, now, a front door that from the street sings hello in yellow. Next, the living room walls, where blue samples in patches are teases for completion. The cross will soon be gone. I will tape my trim and fill in gaps with small brushes. I will sand down cabinets and slow cook hinges. I will sit quiet in the dark and listen to the house breathe, a hush I only hear when I slow.

Outside, a garden spider will make its nightly home across our stoop, swept from the tree to the post. I duck under it when I can but don't always anticipate the angles. It builds its home point by point, hoping for a catch, a meal and some peace. I watch its confidence as it hangs in the air, reaches its legs to the future, and think that this creature, one small miracle, is our grace, our connection, our wonder in this one life.

"We are here to build the house." And we will do it on our own, with diligence, with detail, with love.

Spirituality emerged as a fundamental guidepost in Wholeheartedness. Not religiosity but the deeply held belief that we are inextricably connected to one another by a force greater than ourselves--a force grounded in love and compassion. For some of us that's God, for others it's nature, art, or even human soulfulness. I believe that owning our worthiness is the act of acknowledging that we are sacred. Perhaps embracing vulnerability and overcoming numbing is ultimately about the care and feeding of our spirits.

-Brene Brown, Daring Greatly