Another day ahead.
Not that it’s always easy. The getting started of a day.
Not when my bed’s so warm and the house so dark, and the children woke me in the night three times, at least.
And while my mind swirls with the to-dos of today,
beneath the surface of these plans, beneath all that I know will keep me busy, rushing from here to there,
lie my deeper dreams and goals.
All my heart longs to do and be for my family.
All the words I long to write.
And they look like a mountain from here. Like I’ve been given a wheel barrow and a shovel and told I have to move it.
Like I have to move a mountain.
But of course, I can’t.
And so no wonder it’s easier to stay in bed. Slip back into those dreams.
But this new day awaits. It’s time.
And though the stars are still out,
I can smell the bread.
The first gift of today, and there will be many.
And just waking, well isn’t that a gift?
And hasn’t the one thing that really needs to be done
already been done by Jesus?
In that, I can rest.
With that, I can pull back the curtains,
with hot cup in hand venture a step or two outside
to hear the first bird sing.
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Lamentations 3:22-24
Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, “The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.”
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Morning-Land
Old English songs, you bring to me
A simple sweetness somewhat kin
To birds that through the mystery
Of earliest morn make tuneful din,
While hamlet steeples sleepily
At cock-crow chime out three and four,
Till maids get up betime and go
With faces like the red sun low
Clattering about the dairy floor.
~Siegfried Sassoon
And finally, a word from Jane . . .
“What fine weather this is! Not very becoming perhaps early in the morning, but very pleasant out of doors at noon, and very wholesome—at least everybody fancies so, and imagination is everything.”
~ Jane Austen, November 17, 1798, in a letter to her sister, Cassandra.
Avonlea x
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