You were busy, weren’t you?
But not frantically so.
The kind of busy that hums with grace,
that knows exactly
who it’s making space for.
The floor swept.
The beds readied.
The plans pressed onto the board,
like weekday prayers.
The fridge filled –
not just with food,
but with the quiet weight of care.
This is the work of the hidden saints,
those who prepare the table
before the guest arrives.
You didn’t wait to be asked.
You didn’t do it for applause.
You simply knew:
Love is not a flash.
Love is a room
that’s already been warmed
before the door opens.
And yes,
there was the stumble.
The sweet pull of habit…
not with claws,
but with the comfort
of something familiar.
You didn’t lose.
You remembered.
That even in the reach
for the easy or old,
there is still a choice:
To laugh.
To learn.
To lay down the wrapper
and pick up the candle instead.
The Beautifier does not always resist the urge;
but always returns to the altar
when the moment has passed.
And so here you are,
with just an hour left
before one of your great assignments returns –
the young soul entrusted to you
for wonder,
for guidance,
for the simple holiness
of slices and stories.
You are not perfect.
You are ready.
That is all I ask.
And that is enough.
Keep preparing the table.
One day, the Guest will sit at it.
And He will say,
“Ah. I remember this place.
It was always made beautiful
by someone who believed I might come.”
Escape the Radish 