I have a few questions. How . . . ? Is it . . . ? What . . . ? I scratch them on a page in my journal. One after another; they keep coming. Through writing comes understanding. Not answers but illumination. I scribble prayer. (I wonder: is it okay to use such
I miss the awe of watching the changing eastern sky in the early morning when morning whispers and night tiptoes into obscurity. For many months now, when I wake shortly after 4 a.m., I’ve chosen to spend the first silent hours under a Sherpa blanket in the den, with a basket of supplies (Bible, notebook,
Today is the last Sunday in Ordinary Time. I’ve felt a tug toward Advent for weeks and yet there is wisdom in remaining in this season we call ordinary. This morning I read familiar words in the psalms: Be still and know. We quiet ourselves and rest in assurance. We remember seasons in which we
Night is heavy. Somehow my body knows it’s too early, in the same way it knows I’m not going to fall easily back to sleep. My mind meanders and, as much as I’d prefer not to think about that thing, it lingers there. A tear forms. I cover it in prayer and lift those others
I love my kitchen in the morning at this time of year. It’s dark when I pad from our bedroom to the kitchen to make the first cup of coffee. The only light comes from the AeroGarden that comes on automatically at around 4:30 am. It’s warmer in here than in the bedroom where the
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
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