Monday morning of the long holiday weekend and I am out on my back patio before 6 a.m. Slept well, glad for the absence of an alarm to wake me. But once I open my eyes and see the first light diffusing through the trees outside my window, I can't stay in bed.
It's the quiet I crave. And while the city can never compete with the utter silence of the Bay at dawn, even here, no radios, no baseball games, no power tools....not yet. Some far off crows, maybe, and a squirrel scolding, and the gentle running of water in my little fountain here on the patio. That's all. To be honest, I'm not sure I would keep the little sanity I have left if it weren't for these first morning indulgences of silence. It's what makes room for all the thinking and composing and conversing and problem solving that will happen for the rest of any ordinary day. It clears the way for what's to come; resets my mind on who I am and how I choose to live my life.
And the quiet gives me the chance to receive the Gift. Each new dawning brings with it an offering of mercy that I need as surely as I need oxygen. Every sunrise reaches out with the astounding Gift of brand new opportunities and exciting potential and strong grace to start all over again. Every morning is the bringer of New Mercies and Steadfast Love from the One who made the sun that's cresting over the horizon, yet again; the One who offers this day to me, yet again.
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