This last summer our family did something that was greatly needed but I hope to never, ever, evereverever do again.
We ripped off half of our house and scraped it all the way down to the dirty dirt to rebuild. Talk about crazy. And tight and dusty and inconvenient. But necessary.
My kids have always been the classic farm kids who run around in the dust with bare feet and ripped jeans. To put it mildly, they were all about the dirt that the construction gave us. They climbed it, made obstacle courses through it, dug down deep in it and threw it.
As a woman who can appreciate a good pile of dirt, I noticed something.
Do you see all those varieties?
From one single backyard, we found shades upon shades of the gritty stuff.
What color would you say our dirt is?
Would you call it black and white?
Or are they all shades of brown?
We are not opposites like day and night, up and down, black and white.
We are more alike than we are different, me and mine. You and yours.