I have been trying, years long trying now to beat the sun and my children out of bed because I like to wake up slow and quiet, and to shake off the cranky before I hurt someone. If slow and quiet is out of the question, then I at least want to gulp down my coffee before I have to answer questions. Usually, I lose this race, but sometimes I win because of a burst of willpower, or because of an especially early and refreshing night of sleep, and sometimes I win because the kids miraculously sleep through me walking past their door.
This has been a good week and in the mornings I take big tiptoe steps across the floor, trying to avoid the creaks, like in some sweet old book, but that’s silly here: the whole floor is one big creak, every board a different pitch and walking plays the old house violin; it’s the harmony, perhaps, to the main song of rattling pipes and running water. It’s comforting, really, these familiar sounds, and to be able to diagnose any household ill by a change in its voice.
I thought I’d use this morning time to read and pray and study as I used to try to do, but now, after the candles are lit and I sit down with my coffee, all I want to do is nothing. My front windows face west and when the trees are bare as they are now, I can see the sky get lighter and the edges of the houses across the street become distinct. I see headlights going up and down my dead end street and wonder where anyone could be going so early – must be the paper boy. I notice that the blaring lights on the house across the street stay quiet on the weekends.
If I get curious about what the sun is doing I can go to the kitchen and see the glow coming over the houses and trees. It’s not the ocean or mountains or prairie or wide open space of any kind, but it does look sweet, no? That’s the home of a neighbor over my backyard fence;I wonder if they realize how snug and cozy they look all nestled there.
I am giving thanks for more good gifts from the hand of the good God.