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Barefoot

I’ve always had this thing about looking like someone who has it all together– I want to be that person.  I want to be the person whose house is always ready for unexpected company, and whose kitchen might always boast a freshly baked pie. (Or at least some good coffee…)  I want to be that person who seems to excel at her job and still have time for family and personal hobbies.  But alas.  I don’t think I’m any of those things!  I would be happy, though, if I could at least carry of the impression of being such a person. (I work valiantly at it… but I’m not sure how great of a job I’m doing.)

You can imagine how disconcerting it is to me to have people in my house at all hours of the day as I am still painting and unpacking.  And not only random work people, but members of my church.  I’ve now met more than half of the congregation covered in paint, and barefooted.

The funny thing is, though, these people just seem to love me all the more because, slowly, my image as a city girl from Atlanta is peeling away before their eyes.  And perhaps doubly as funny… instead of getting in a dither about what these folks will think of me, I am learning to relax, and just open the door to let them in.  Even in my bare feet.

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