It’s morning, again.

The tiny bubbles dancing in the kettle make my feet want to stretch, my eyes want to close, and I find my cheeks rounding into a lazy smile.

It’s morning, again. I can hardly believe it. Another day!

It’s morning, again.

The sounds get to me, wrap me up in their secret comforts. The lazy shuffle of our heels against the worn wood floor, making our way through the warmth of the house. Quiet words, whisper words. The heat clicks on and the gentle hushing keeps us cocooned, there in our sanctuary, our safest place.

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Morning Hour

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The glug-glug-glug of the steaming water pours over the dark and lively coffee grounds, hitting the glass walls of this tiny little press. There is the faintest mumbling of the wind outside, low and steady. A bird is heard just outside the window and it chimes in to the melody-music of the morning, like joining a friend in double-dutch jumprope or merging onto a high-traveled road, windows way down and the sun blazing in. The bird sings out, and I notice it sings just because it wants to; just because it wants to. It’s the middle of winter, but this bird sings its song of spring anyway. Almost, and kind of, like Hope. I think to myself that there’s something to that. Yea, there’s something to that and chills run down the backs of my arms.

I hear a car swoosh by out front. Followed by another. The world is awake.

Can you believe it? It’s morning, again. We were never guaranteed these hours, these minutes, these sounds once more. It’s like last night’s warmest wishes of “sweet dreams” and “goodnights” were our birdsong of hope, singing us into the spring of the morning hours. Those good-night words are spoken and move us into the wonder of our waking. A reminder of what’s coming.

I’ve heard Him whisper in my night; and again in my morning. The original birdsong. The One the creatures emulate. Have you heard Him? You may not have even known it was Him. He’s the One who made your today. The One who keeps you, invites you closer and higher and farther in. I can’t deny the whisper. Because when I wake, I see the magic of these morning hours and there’s a weight to it that beauty-words cannot touch. He’s more than I can take in.

The clinking of mugs steals my attention and I see my husband standing there in our little yellow kitchen. I love the way he looks, there in his slippers, sleepily going about the morning rituals. There is a depth of friendship with him, a kind that is understood when I see his I-love-you glance or his welcome-to-today smile. I watch the sun hit his hands and in the quiet, with love, he makes me a morning cup of coffee.

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He doesn’t care for this poppingly dark liquid himself, but he deeply adores the one who does. The room is full of breath-sounds and humming and peace. I get lost in my Jesus thoughts.

I don’t understand the whole of who He is, but I do know He is breath. My life-source. There’s a comfort to Him, like the comfort of sacred morning-sounds. I know Him so much more when I listen for him. When I train my ears to hear all the parts of the piece. He is familiar and bright and the reason that these cold toes can scamper through my home each morning. With all my mind’s waking wanderings, I find myself completely grateful for the way He brought me into today, in kindness and generosity. I’m grateful for the small things, the normal things, that happen in a sleepy response to being alive once again.

Today is not spring, yet maybe it is. Because the today I see is full and satiated and bright with joy.

It’s morning, again.

4 thoughts on “It’s morning, again.

  1. You do so well hitting multiple targets with words written legato. One reaches the heart and soul of the reader, like me. The other … taking me on the journey to a glimpse … or even a fairly full view … of Jesus in His glory. Amazingly, both views are so intricately meshed together that I find myself moved to want more of the view of Him right in front of me. In the sunlight. In the hush. In the arabica aroma. In the songs of nature. You make me want more.

    Even so, I thought for sure you had me (you know, the part of me that sheds a heart-welled tear) at getting lost in your Jesus thoughts. Beauty. Love. Adoration. Acceptance. But then, like an unexpected oboe harmonizing with a trumpet … you had me at “training your ears to hear all the parts of the piece.” Oh my. That stopped me dead in my tracks. Nothing could be more beautiful that to realize that the world around us is indeed a masterly written, ongoing Cantata. Thank you for reminding me to listen for the obscure. It’s often there in that single measure where the “piece” makes sense. Selah!

  2. Thank you for helping me…reminding me…to see Jesus in the everyday joys that are easily overlooked. During these hard, bleak days of winter when the Hope of spring seems so far off…your post brings me back to the reality of Jesus all around me. Hope is near to all who seek Him!

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