Monday Mercy

It’s just after four when I stand at the microwave watching the red numbers count down from seventy-seven. The Keurig coughs and spurts out elixir behind me. Oh God, you have brought me in safety to this new day.

That thing in my body that’s been causing me trouble still burns, that concern in my heart for that person—no, persons—still weighs, and that other thing I’ve been procrastinating about still nags, but right here, right now, before the wild animals of the day come at me with teeth barred and low growls deep in their throat, I pause. In all I do, direct me to the fulfilling of your purpose. 

Yesterday, I saw a sparrow sitting on a branch of the lilac tree in our backyard. There was something about the bird and the branches and I thought of the Creator and it was a sweet moment that passed like a whisper. One of those thin moments when heaven touches earth. And now, here in the kitchen where the only light comes from the AeroGarden where tiny tomatoes grow and the only sound comes from the practiced steps required to craft a perfect cup of morning coffee, I think of that tiny sparrow.

When the countdown gets to one—mindful of a still-sleeping husband—I open the microwave before it can beep, take out warm soy milk, froth it, and pour it over my coffee creating a perfect morning drink. You hear my simple prayers and grant me the sweetness of your presence. 

Mug of coffee in hand, I pad back to the bedroom where Gerry still sleeps. Maya’s tiny head rises and her Yorkie eyes follow me. I set my coffee cup on the bedside table, climb back into bed, and reach for my device to read and tap out a few words. Day begins. Have mercy.


I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things and the thin places where faith intersects.
  1. Lovely. Thank you Linda.

    1. Thanks so much, Maggie.

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