Every time I’m in my bathroom, washing my hands, I smile. It’s the combination of pretty little things. They’re simple. A thrifted silver tray with delicate little feet that remind me of a clawfoot tub. There’s the new pumpkin-flavored candle, and the Kleenex box that’s black and white (this makes me happy since it’s my favorite color combination ever), and the pretty bath salts and soap my husband bought me from Anthropologie one Christmas that I keep to look pretty. It’s memories and time and a little moment of beauty while I wash my hands with lavender-scented soap. (Dear reader, lest you think I get these moments of beauty often, please realize this is because 1) I’ve locked myself in the bathroom to pee by myself! Luxury for moms to littles! and 2) To see this little vignette, I’m ignoring the other things like waded-up TP left by my baby girl as she stands and grasps on to the TP holder, or the shoe prints on the counters from boys who think counters are step stools. But I digress.)
Creating little beautiful moments in my house not only help me to bring beauty into the daily and mundane tasks of washing my hands and using the restroom, but also speak much more boldly and on a much grander scale. Though little, they are physical moments that evidence a care and concern for the small. That small spaces — however imperfect and broken or not-what-we-want — carry within them the possibility for beauty and refreshment. Or as Myquillin Smith says, “it doesn’t have to be perfect to be beautiful.”
Little vignettes or moments of whimsy (like the twinkle lights in my backyard or the silver faux deer and moose heads in our living room) are daily reminders to not take myself too seriously, to welcome the magic and twinkle of lights against the sky, and realize in a physical way the value of piecing together broken and cast-off things to create beauty.
My thrift store tray points to a spiritual reality — that we’re all broken, all cast-off, all longing for redemption and usefulness. And as it props up my pretties, and as I scrub my hands, I remember that God delights in bringing cast-offs like us together, inviting us to sit down together at a glorious feast, where we all will have a place and all be made whole.
(This whole write-for-31-days thing started with the “Nester,” Myquillin Smith, and her series this year is on vignettes.) This is the thirtieth post for the Write 31 days challenge, where I’ll be writing every day through the month of October. I’m excited to see what comes of this daily practice. I’d love for you to comment, pin the above image, share posts and subscribe to receive posts to the right in the sidebar as we work through these things together. Posts in the series are all linked to from the first post.