What I Forget

I’m not a morning person. It’s not that I don’t like mornings, but it takes a stretch of time to get my ‘awake’ happening. And coffee. A lot of it. Bacon helps, too.

It’s rare that I rise much more than 30 minutes prior to when I need to be somewhere. With 4 kids, rest is a commodity purchasable with nothing but sedatives, but I do not allow myself near them for fear of intense habit formation.

But even with the perpetual exhaustion and a dire need for more sleep, I love early mornings.

I attend them on rare occasion, but consider them to be one of life’s great treasures. Little in life is so serene, so inviting as a sunrise. It’s that distinct connection to the natural, yet simultaneously spiritual. It’s new and it’s old, and it’s never the same.

It reminds me of how small I am, and how loved. And makes me think of how much I love my family.

I think about the centuries of men passed by who enjoyed the same sun, perhaps lived with similar dreams and forged their way to a better life. I toss my ideas around of how similar we might be, and how different.

Early mornings give me time to breathe, start slow, share a little gratitude and take some time to think. Today was one of those days, and you know, it was a good day.

I don’t get up early near enough. But I’m going to start doing it more. I’m going to take the moments that bespeak my humanity and ground my soul. Time when my thoughts can settle, and stillness can take over.

I have time left, but time rushed is not time really lived. There is, and will always be, much to do; but doing life is nothing compared to being – and feeling – alive.

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