I force my my heavy legs over the side of the tousled blankets before I even pry the lids of my eyes open. Resenting her cries that pull me from the warmth of my freshly cleaned sheets, I make my way to the next room where our newest addition to the family sings with need for her mama.
“I just fed you,” my foggy mind recalls. It’s five AM, and it feels like I haven’t gotten any depth of sleep as it is.
Little coughs in between squeaky breaths tell me she’s struggling some for air. I gently give her relief, and nourish her with milk to sustain and calm her. It’s then that I thank Jesus.
Thank you for the unwelcomed alarm this morning.
Growing in energy, I make my way down the nearly hundred-year-old, creaking stairs for coffee.
As I settle now into my upstairs room full of windows, the sun discreetly begins to light the sky; slipping up over the horizon not visible from where I’ve cozied in. I open one of the many windows and listen. As the coffee slides down my throat, warming my insides, I hear the whole world alive. A woodpecker searches for bugs beneath the solid bark of a tree; playful squirrels jump from one lazy limb to another; birds of all kinds sing not from the air, but from the comfort of their nests, waking to the beauty of the morning dew and the hidden sun, who, yet unseen, gives light to the earth and awakens life among the trees.
Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you. –Psalm 143:8
It feels like months since I’ve had space—space of any kind, really, to breathe. To really breathe in deeply the beauty that is this life. Caught up in a haze of changing diapers, waking cries, milky comas, and newborn snuggles, along with the two-year-old squeals of excitement, tears of defiance, and potty accidents as we train, my life is far from quiet. My house feels far from spacious, far from clean, far from slow-moving. It is in this blur of days, difficult to separate one from the other, that I feel as though I begin to lose parts of myself at the very same time that I begin to discover parts of myself.
Amidst my impatience, my quickness to anger, and my insecurities; I also find myself unearthing my depth of need, my quest for truth, and my passion for words.
There have been many seasons of life where I’ve felt lost—unsure of the next step before me, but just for now, for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m believing that God believes in me. Have you ever seen those ferns that curl up when they’re touched, and open when there’s stillness? I feel like I’m opening in the stillness—my heart longing for the freshness of morning air, the scalding heat of coffee from the pot, and the love that cannot—will not fail despite my failures.
He believes in me. Sure, that, but more—He lives in me. I am a temple of His holiness, and just as the birds awake with the warmth of the sun, so my heart awakens with the delight of my Father. Here’s to the start of a new journey—one that’s been asleep beneath the tangled blankets, awaiting a surprise morning wakeup.