Make My Messes Matter

This summer I found a desk by the dumpster. It was battered. There was dried super glue in a drawer with a hook stuck to it. The varnish was scratched. There were missing handles. Several splintered edges. But it was solid wood. In an age of particle board and plywood, the real stuff is too good to pass up. I hauled it into my jeep and up to the guest room where it stayed untouched for a lot longer than I intended.

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I spent many evenings and weekends this fall with an electric sander in hand. Carefully stripping the old. Making the surface smooth. Never too much at a time. Working in fifteen minute increments so my neighbors downstairs wouldn’t hate me.

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On my 30th, I picked out paint. Vintage Teal. Soon after, the desk got two fresh coats and took its place in the kitchen.

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Reclaimed. Repurposed. Restored.

Over the weekend, I paint my nails a favorite hue. Funnily enough, it almost matches that desk.

I ink truths in Sharpie.

I go for a run. The first one in ages. Everything pounds: my feet on the pavement, the music in my ears, my heart in my chest, the words in my head.

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“We are born makers. We move what we are learning from our heads to our hearts through our hands. ” Brene Brown

The dishes pile up in the sink. There’s laundry to put away. The kitchen floor’s needed mopped for a month…

But it can wait.

I get my hands flecked with acrylics. I play with colors and textures. Loose ideas that need practiced before they can really take shape.

Sleeping at Last plays in the background. Lyrics become prayer:

make my messes matter
make this chaos count

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In me. In us. In these strange days.

Yet you, Lord, are our Father.
We are the clay, you are the potter;
we are all the work of your hand.
Isaiah 64:8

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One thought on “Make My Messes Matter

  1. Oh, Kim, I am so happy to hear your voice! Was thrilled to see “Kim Rambles Here” pop up in email… Your voice is eloquent, lovely, honest, thoughtful, whimsical, wise, true, reflective, descriptive, and hopeful. Just like you. I clap my hands and shout “Bravo!” and then I whisper, “Thank You, God,” for your dear, precious and beautiful life.

    kim rambles here wrote: > Kimberly Flowers posted: “This summer I found a desk by the dumpster. > It was battered. There was dried super glue in a drawer with a hook > stuck to it. The varnish was scratched. There were missing handles. > Several splintered edges. But it was solid wood. In an age of particle > boar” >

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