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I don’t need to remind you of how COVID19 invaded our world, shook our foundations, fractured our normalcy, and muddied our waters. For some, its impact resulted in an overwhelming loss; for others, isolation and anxiety. It impacted all our lives in one way or another. Some of us continue to be in the thick of it. Many of us are still trying to find our footing in a relatively new unwanted normal. There are days when it can feel like a heavy blanket of snow, making it difficult for us to move.
When I received my diagnosis of small fiber neuropathy—a disorder that causes damage to the nerves outside the brain and spinal cord—my mom shared that she understood if I chose to keep it private. It was, as she put it, “a personal matter.” But, after two years of shouldering the burden of undiagnosed pain, I couldn’t carry it myself any longer.
Offerings are something more. They are something special. Sometimes we might find an offering to God in an unexpected place. Yes, God has prompted my heart to bless a family in need financially or offer dinner deliveries to a struggling friend. God has called me to give extra to support missions at various times. However, I never expected my body to be an offering to God. My actions, yes. My money, yes. My body? No.
I have always been a homebody. I love the feeling of home—the smells, the coziness, the space to be my full self and exhale deep. In college my sorority sisters would lovingly tease me about my corner of our shared room—every square inch of the walls were covered with pictures, quotes, and magazine covers. I enjoyed creating spaces that were warm, inviting, and inspired others, even on a non-existent budget. I wanted to bring beauty in and share it with those around me. And all of these years later, this is still my heart.