The mornings are dark now and there is nowhere like a quiet kitchen lit up at this hour, when everyone else is sleeping.
There is nowhere like it yet, more often than not, I would trade my very soul to stay in bed. I whittle away this hour, ten minutes at a time, with every hit of the snooze button. Always convinced it’s worth the trade off.
When I chose morning as my word for the year, maybe I imagined myself productive. I thought I might have jobs done, essays written.
What I have, is a morning basket. It has colouring pencils and colouring books. It has my Common Book of Prayer. It has my bullet journal. Right now it has a Georgia O’Keeffe postcard that my friend Cherith gave me. It has my heart bowl, which I set on the kitchen table beside the postcard. Sometimes it has other books, or pictures, or quotes from my bedroom.
I have two problems with the morning. One: I don’t want to get out of bed. Two: when I do get out of bed, I want to do Everything. It is easy (for me) to be lazy. And it is easy (for me) to try to do too much, and to try to run on empty. It is harder by far to just be awake and present to my life.
It is hard to just colour in. It is hard to read liturgies before I read Facebook. It is hard to feed myself properly instead of quickly. It is hard to Be Still, with my fists unclenched, like I believe in the holy spirit, like it’s the way to start my day, like it will make any difference.
It is hard to begin without feeling like we’re already behind, without panicking that already “it’s not enough”, without listening to ridiculous voices in our heads.
“Do not despise these small beginnings”, Zechariah 4:10 says, “for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin.”.
Those words are too long for a tattoo, but I need to etch them somewhere.
The mornings are dark now, and just being here in my quiet kitchen is a small beginning. A cause to rejoice.