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Open Hands

The school of life has taught me to hold it with open hands.

I have tried desperately to control it. I really did believe that if only I could maintain the appearance of a perfect marriage, perfectly behaved kids, perfectly styled house, perfectly executed devotion to God, that He would see my said “appearance of perfection” and make life go my way.

I’ll bet we can all imagine how that turned out for me.

Folks probably still look on me from a distance and assume that I’ve got it together. But if you take a second glance, you’d know how far it is from the truth. The years spent desperately attempting perfection…well that was a noose around my neck, friends. It was an isolated, lonely place.

Who wants to be around someone who has the appearance of perfection anyway?

This past weekend, we spent the day with couples who have known the kind of heartache and betrayal that we have known. It’s been awhile since we opened up the book…the one in our hearts that remembers where we came from, and the pit we’ve been rescued from. It was healing and life-giving, because we all sat in the reality that it isn’t our “togetherness” that brings life and freedom. On the contrary, it’s our “falling-apart-ness” and the acceptance of forgiveness that sets us free. With each other, with God. It’s the letting go.

Just like God holds us in His hands, His open hands…so must we hold our lives with those same open hands. There are risks involved. When we open our hands, things tend to fall out, even die. Here’s some of the death that we have experienced…

the death of a dream

the death of a career

the death (or loss) of possessions – house, cars, land, stuff (to be exact)

the death of relationships

the death of the appearance of perfection

But after all that death, then comes life. There’s resurrection. There’s newness that’s better that the old. But its messy. Imperfect. It risks being misunderstood. The minute we acknowledge that we are lacking, there are “me too’s” that echo around the room and we don’t feel so alone anymore. Our hands can be full. Overflowing, even.

You should try it.

My home is basically a story about all the ways that God brought life after death.

a new dream

a better carreer

less possessions, but more meaningful ones

new relationships and old ones that are better, now that the masks are off

a new normal that makes you a relatable human being, with real problems and real issues and real connections with other people

a new woman, flawed but stronger and not so fragile and fearful

Those cast iron hands…I saw them and I had to have them. They mean something. Some would say they are quirky and weird. Well, some would say I’m a little quirky and weird. Some will say, “me too.” And life feels a little more beautiful. It feels worth it. The hands are a reminder that days are meant to be experienced, not controlled.

Fill your home with meaningful beauty.

On Saturday, May 6th, I would love for you to join me in my home to talk about how I do this. I’ll share a bit of my journey, a vision for what the future may hold, and offer some of my favorite finds for the home, for purchase.

It’ll be called an “open house”. But it’s really a story about how God resurrected us and set us on our feet, hands overflowing and far from perfection.

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  • Reply Deanna Cox

    Beautiful! Thank you for sharing this, friend!

    April 2, 2017 at 4:12 pm
  • Reply Ape

    A resounding YES to all the things written!! Love you!

    April 3, 2017 at 1:32 am
  • Reply Beth Blamick

    Beautiful post, Brooke! So happy that God has opened your hands…

    April 3, 2017 at 7:03 pm
    • Reply

      Thank you Beth! <3

      April 21, 2017 at 2:13 pm

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