Wednesday, January 11, 2012
The Ritual of Morning
There is nothing quite so peaceful as a gray early morning, cloudy and still, the air full with the promise of an impending storm. I awoke today to the loveliest heavy cloud cover, grateful to know the darkness would keep the kids in bed even longer than usual (bless the long silent minutes before the daily bloodshed begins).
As I have for the past few weeks, I began the day with yoga, so much better for me than my former habit of waiting until mid-morning to begin my practice. With the house completely quiet, and only a lamp on in the living room for muted light, the time is perfect. Just me and my mat, and the beautiful women of Namaste Yoga. And a touch of lightning this morning, which I found nearly intoxicating.
After yoga, I sip hot water with lemon, in my chair by the fireplace, where I also spend a few minutes with my Bible, which I am currently reading in chronological order for the first time. Have you ever read the Bible this way? Fascinating to put the spiritual realm into a more historical context. I wish I had tried it sooner.
Then comes coffee, a phone call to my mother, a little blog reading, and then (with a bang) comes the day. If I didn't stay up so late reading, I swear I would wake up at 5 am just to revel in that beloved early morning stillness. Today, though, with the bedroom still so dark, the children slept in and I didn't have the heart to wake them. Why rush the day, yes? The homeschool lessons, the nonstop Hobbit meal schedule, the work on my desk, the endless onslaught of emails.
No need to hurry, you see. Intentional living means enjoying this moment, this serene time before the clamoring begins. And so I took my coffee to the porch, in the welcome sixty-something degree January temperature, and I listened to the rain and the muted sound of distant thunder, and I watched the brilliant red cardinals fluff themselves up in the bare colorless trees. And it was perfect.
And now here it is, nearly ten o'clock at night, and I can still hear the heathens giggling in bed. It's a fine how-do-you-do, my friends.
As God is my witness, I will never let them sleep so late again.