In the Morning

I’m drawn out to the deck by splendour in the morning sky. I lean against the railing, hands cupped around a warm cup of coffee, and worship as I look to the east. My whispered prayers mingle with the sounds of day beginning in the valley below.

In the distance, from the valley, comes the sound of cars: people in a hurry to get somewhere important. It’s not yet dawn and the birds haven’t yet begun their song, which would take my attention from the low drone of busy. I listen, then let it go.

I look to the east at the city that is just waking up and think about the school children and educators who have been displaced because of a fire that consumed a school last night. One of those terrible things. I scan the ridge, and look for movement revealing a deer, a coyote, or a bear but the ridge and its inhabitants still rest.

My eyes return to the east and the changing blues and pinks—the image that was there a moment before is no longer. To attempt to capture the glory with a photograph seems pointless. Abiding, being in and with the changing sky seems so much wiser. So often we are prone to accept a reasonable facsimile rather than doing the work of abiding.

How easy it would be to pull out my phone or my camera and take a photograph and then move on with my day. But the better, lasting, life-altering work is to stand in the morning chill and watch until my imagination takes flight and I have no choice but to whisper prayer.

I pray psalms and prayers that pilgrims have prayed through the ages, and I speak aloud the secret things that weigh on my heart. And when the pinks fade and the awe gives way to peace. I turn and go back into the house, filled and emptied at the same time.

Thanks so much for stopping by. I'm here early most mornings with one of my photos and a few words about life and those thin places where faith intersects.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.