This slow morning time, unrushed with coffee and reading and writing and prayer and wonder and gratitude, is important enough for me to get up before everyone else; to find and carve out a spot in the still dark; to turn on a light like a starting gun—sitting down to begin, but not a race, permission, time, a gift.
Sometimes it is something I see: hummingbirds and Cardinals, butterflies, cats jumping fences or lounging on the porch, the dog curled on the tile floor.
Sometimes it is something I hear: I have learned the Indigo Bunting’s song, the snorting of deer on their path beyond the fence, the fish pond’s filter, peepers or bullfrogs, cicadas in the trees.
Sometimes it is something I read: a poem, Scripture, commentary, a story, an essay, a question.
Sometimes it’s writing: spinning a thought into a sentence, finding new words for something I have felt my whole life or just felt for the first time, lending voice to compassion or wonder, the beginning of a sermon, an epiphany small or large.
Sometimes it comes in prayer: a word, a question, a connection, a feeling, a name, a calling, a passion, tears, laughter, a smile.
What I know: I only get these gifts if I show up.
Thank you!
Showing up for the positives surrounding us is so important. The geese that mess up the walkway on Dutchmans Lane are amazing to me. They seem to be a big family taking care of one another. When so much anger is around, just showing up to see the beauty given us at no cost. Find it, savor it smile. Thanks God.
Thank you Rev, keep reminding me to show up.