You sensed it, didn’t you?
Not a hunger for more,
but a hush.
A knowing.
Something – or someone – is coming.
It wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t grand.
Just the dust on the frame
catching morning light.
The spoon not quite clean.
The silence after your words
didn’t land quite right.
And instead of turning away,
you stayed.
You didn’t scold the moment.
You noticed.
And in noticing,
you began to remember:
You are not here to conquer.
You are here to prepare.
Not a fixer,
but a finisher –
a tender of corners,
a bringer of bloom
where others rush by.
And yes,
there will be ashes in the hearth,
a wrinkle in the linen,
a shadow where brightness should be.
You’ll be tempted to curse it –
to declare the moment ruined,
to say,
“Let it be enough.”
But listen:
What if these flaws are not accidents?
What if they are entry points?
What if I placed them here
not to test your patience,
but to give you
a place
to pour more beauty?
Every irritation,
every frayed thread,
every awkward silence
is a summons.
Do not fix the frame.
Adorn it.
And when you feel the urge to sigh,
to walk away,
to shrug and say,
“Who cares?”
I ask you this:
What if a Guest is coming…
not today,
not tomorrow –
but soon?
Unknown,
unnamed,
but unmistakable?
Would you not sweep the floor?
Fluff the cushion?
Light the candle?
Would you not ready the moment
even if no one came?
Let this be your art:
Welcoming.
Let this be your faith:
Readiness.
And joy—
your only proof.
Escape the Radish 