Telling marks…

Our house is currently on the market. This means that we live “on alert” because at any given time we can receive a call telling us that an agent wants to do a showing. And, when this happens, we spring into action de-cluttering, cleaning, and making things as presentable as possible. No matter how thorough our preparation, though, there is simply no way to mask the fact that little people live and play here. See the illustrations below:

The first is our couch. As of this weekend, in addition to formula and milk, we can add blue crayon to the list of stains. (I will not mention who was on duty when this crime was committed, but here’s a hint: I was not home).

This second picture is of one of our kitchen walls. The medium of choice this time was a blue marker of some sort. (I will confess that I was in charge when this happened… I think I was slaving over the stove whipping up another gourmet dinner, if I remember correctly… wink*wink).

I don’t have a picture available for our third area of concern, but in the upstairs hallway if you look closely enough, you will see an area of ink pen swirls on top of our gold paint. Imagine a very subtle faux treatment, if you will.

So, regardless of our efforts to make everything look perfect for potential buyers, we have these little marks or scars here and there that reveal the fact that children reside here… children with lots of energy and creativity… and an apparent shortage of paper. Sure, these marks might be an eyesore or a distraction to someone who is looking for a pristine home. But, to us, these marks are reminders that we have the privilege of parenting two curious toddlers who are busy from sun up to sun down exploring their world and coloring ours. The marks tell a story and make this house our home. And, therefore, I’m going to leave some of these marks around until someone demands I do otherwise.

This makes me wonder, too, about the kind of marks I’m wearing. Time and experiences have surely left some telling marks on us. If someone were looking over me in the same way strangers come in and look over our house, would they see the marks of a Christ-follower or the marks of one who worships the world? Would they see marks of blessing or marks of apathy and indifference? Would they see marks of gratitude and joy and peace… or marks of bitterness, frustration and anxiety? Who would they think lives in this body of mine? Does it look like I live alone or is Christ in here? Hard questions…

My only hope, our only hope, is that Christ will color us with marks of grace and blessing… marks that encourage others to praise and thank and enjoy the God we serve.