Gravy and mashed potatoes got nothing on a momma’s kitchen hug or a May breeze between me and clouds. Those comfort, and yet I lean toward an atypical comfort, my iPhone, in the sometimes uncomfortable space that is just me.
Why does it comfort me to troll with my finger, scrolling through tagged recipes and small sentences of others, largely absent from my flesh-and-blood life. Perhaps the distraction itself is a comfort, anything that diverts my attention.
And yet, when I truly find myself in that quiet space, a different comfort enters in. It’s a peacefulness, a deepness that I see as God, in the quietness whispering, “It’s okay. I know. I’m here. You’re not alone. And, quiet all those sputter-thoughts, girl. . . You’re enough. No action required.”
And while all that talk about me is comforting, the true comfort lies in Who I know God to be, in the steadfastness, in the tenacity, in the ri-dic-u-lous grace that God’s about. That’s a comfort that borders on overwhelming and unhinging; that’s a comfort that eases me past myself into something much deeper, much, much more comforting.