Everyday Grace

Searching for goodness in the ordinary

The Other Couch


Confession: if you look long enough, you’ll notice quickly that this photo is not Instagram-perfect. To the right, you’ll see the bins of stuff still sitting around from when I started Konmari-ing and then life got in the way. A Diet Coke from a drive-thru sits on my coffee table, even though I know lots of folks will let me know about how it’s poison and I should make my own drinks from fermented kale and stevia. And for your own sanity, dear enneagram ones, please don’t glance under the coffee table itself. You don’t wanna know what assortment of vitamins, half-read books, tupperware containers of dried fruit and nuts, journals, bottle of Lysol wipes, and other random crap is lurking under there. Just don’t do that to yourself. I give you permission to look away until I organize it (likely first thing in the morning on February 31).

But, there’s something else in this photo – the reason I paused and took it from exactly this angle, no contorting to hide the mess.

See, I never sit over here. 

I usually sit on the other couch to the left, facing the TV. It’s a little larger and comfier than the smaller loveseat I’m sitting on now, but let’s be real, the reason is because your girl likes to veg out and binge watch America’s Next Top Model when I feel stressed or sad, which is pretty often if I’m honest.

But today, as I was getting something from my bag which happened to be next to the smaller couch facing the windows, the rain caught my attention. Please say you know exactly what I mean – when the rain just looks so beautiful falling across and down the windowpanes, while the gentle sound of droplets hitting the roof and glass makes you question whether you need the tension in your body or if it’s time to just let it go, makes you remember that there is time and space to explore a staggeringly beautiful world that contains things like rain and the sound it makes and the way trees sort of sway and boogie in the wind. Makes you remember that though everything we see can be flooded and drowned and destroyed, the sun always seems to poke its head out in the morning, and there is restoration and hope.

So I sat for a minute, and just watched the windows and the world outside like a TV.

And I think I’m learning something about how I can’t be connected to everything at the same time. How, if I choose to connect to too many things or somebodies or places all at once, I’ll eventually look around and realize I’m not connected to anything or anybody, not really. The internet is a wonderful tool that can make our lives easier, or tear us to pieces. Maybe sometimes, especially if I find myself feeling lost and alone even in a sea of people and beautiful experiences, it is a good idea to disconnect from the thing in my hands so I can open up to all the things outside them. Because…y’all? I think the things outside my hands might be better. I think they might be healing. Joy-bringing. (Not that I don’t love you guys. But social media is a whole situation, and everybody needs a little powered-down time, I think.)

Now, I’m not swearing off the internet, let’s be real. But maybe I need to learn to disconnect a little so that I can reconnect with what I’ve been missing, like rain on windows. Maybe everything weighing on me could listen to the rain, too, and feel less like a burden and more like my next project. Maybe a creative solution to all my weary soul is fighting against is right here in my living room, on the other couch. So if you need me, I’ll be right here. Listening to the voice of God in the rain and letting it wash away the comparison monster, the hurts and slights, the opinions of everyone else. Trying to connect with Jesus and with me again, underneath it all.


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