When God says, “Here. I want you to work here,” and hands us a house and a family, it’s a shocking and embarrassing misunderstanding to think that He’s just essentially tethered us with a very short leash to the brown microfiber sofa. When we conjure up the very uninspiring vision of beige, orange-peel-textured walls, Rubbermaid bins, Cheetos, and Crock-Pots, and think that’s what we’re doomed to, that’s our own fault.
