Mornings {What waits for you at sunrise}

It started with a commitment.

A commitment to sit, hold on to a pen for longer than it often takes to scribble a reminder to not forget the library books again or remember the coconut at the grocery store this time.

A commitment to not respond to the temporary calls to pick-up, dust-off, fold together but to embrace the process involved in the act of patience.

A commitment to read, to listen, to write, to intentionally place my feet up on the foot rest and let them stay there for longer than it takes to read Lois Ehlert’s Planting a Rainbow.IMG_2294A commitment to send our children back into their rooms if they rise early, teaching them that these morning hours of silence are sacred and they too must learn to listen and rest in the grey between dark and light, listening to the robins sing them into the mornings.

A commitment that when 8am rolls around my shower will be complete, doors may open wide and breakfast will be served. So after the dirty dishes have been placed, dropped into the kitchen sink where they will wait to be washed another time we can all go for our morning yard stroll dressed in our finest pajama shorts, underwear and t-shirts. Bra optional. IMG_2291The world is new to us every morning – this is God’s gift and every man should believe he is reborn each day. – Baal Shem Tov

This promise:

The world is new.

Reborn each day.

Each morning.

This is God’s gift.

The slow nature of rising, moving, stretching. Slowly bringing the stove-top pot of water to 197 degrees for the perfect pitcher of black coffee later to be tainted with sweet cream.

This is God’s gift.IMG_2290Watching the stalks of sweet corn marry with the sugar snap peas, blessed with the protection of abundant zucchini.

This is God’s gift.

The porch lights that have taken their record of the evening events, still recording before their switch is turned off as their replacement, the sun, clocks in.

This is God’s gift.

It’s in her smile after her 5am morning nursing. The affirmation that this first action, nursing, feeding, nourishing, is good. Is sweet. Is delicious.

This is God’s gift.

The moist, almost dough-like zucchini banana walnut bread Jake made late into the night last night after staring at the four black bananas still sitting on the bottom shelf of the fridge, wondering the possibilities.

This is God, and Jake’s, gift.IMG_2293 It’s in the way God speaks not only in the silence but in the transition of dawn, the first glimpse of light before the dawn. Before the tomato leaves shift East. Before the Tiger Lillies reappear. Before the incessant beautiful talking of a two-year old begins.


As Meister Eckert writes, with the sunrise comes an opportunity to embrace my space as a beginner.

That in the quiet of this very morning I can rest in not having answers, not having to answer, not having to be the one who knows but the one who can rest in the unknown.

Resting in the commitment to rise in the morning.


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