I love mornings. I really do. But a specific kind of morning- not the kind where you wake up groaning with the rest of creation, moving just slowly enough to put your entire schedule behind so that you’re rushing out the door barely feeling ready to face the day, spilling your coffee or contents of breakfast down your front, and probably snapping at all the people you love in the process.
I’m talking about the breathing deep mornings, when everything is quiet for a few minutes, save the percolating coffee maker- sigh!! is there a lovelier sound?- which seems to say, “Welcome to today, O Beautiful Queen of the House. Don’t worry- you don’t have to talk to me. You can just groggily pour yourself a glorious cup and watch the swirls of steam rise to the heavens.” Yes. My coffee maker is very articulate. (And obviously a bit of a kiss-up. I don’t know why- he already knows he’s my favorite appliance. Yes. It’s a he. And his name is Clive. Which I just decided. Just now… As in Clive Staples Lewis.)
Those mornings, when I get up early enough to have coffee and sit down with Jesus before Lucy wakes up, and stare out our living room window at the quiet, dark blue light- signs of a dawn almost breaking- those mornings are a time for remembering… Remembering who I am, Whose I am, what kind of person/wife/friend/etc I want to be. I do this by reading the Word (maybe to read is to remember?) journal and/or write down some thankfuls. Counting grace by counting gifts, as Ann so wonderfully talks about.
I savor that kind of morning so much, but throughout the week, I have to realize it’s not always going to happen.
And I don’t want to be so caught up in everything having to be perfect (see above; perfectly Austenian, yes?) that I’m only seeking the Lord if I have an hour of quiet. Because it’s not a perfect life we live. It is SO messy, and sometimes I go to bed without making coffee for the morning, and leave all the dishes in the sink, and it thoroughly irks me to my core when they’re still there in the morning. (Where are the dish fairies that are supposed to come and clean them up while I sleep??? Mine are slacking…)
Leigh Ann created a whole wonderful blog post about this! One quote says:
“Fellow mamas, can we ban mommy guilt and our idealized versions of what our quiet times should look like and instead bask in mommy grace?… I recently read Stepping Heavenward by Elizabeth Prentiss. Add it to your list. You’ll love it. But she said (emphasis mine):
God knows these seasons of motherhood and [*gasp*] He ordained them. He gets more glory when we serve our children with a joyful heart than He would if we were able to steal away for private devotions with Him.”
(Yes, it’s a quote in a quote… Now I want to go get that book she mentions. Doesn’t it sound good?)
So. The goal- whether I have 1 minute or 1 hour of time with Jesus- is to think this thought: “Listen to my voice in the morning, Lord. Each morning I bring my requests to you and wait expectantly.”
How much would change if I had an expectant soul, watching and waiting for the Lord, even when I am 10 minutes behind? Even in the coffee-splattered, baby-spatted, hair-half-done moments? Well, at least that’s what I long for.
I know people that have WAY more going on than I do- more children, more work, more extracurriculars, etc. and they seem to just overflow with grace, peace, love- abundance. And they probably didn’t get to sit serenely for an hour- or even 5 minutes- before their day started. Does this mean I won’t work to have my own quiet time? Of course not. I love it, for one thing. And right now, at my maturity level, I seem to do much better after 10 minutes of *hopefully* uninterrupted time with the Lord, time to set my intention for the day, time to remember, instead of just forgetting- just abrasively bludgeoning through my day like a bull in a china shop.
So. This one is going by Clive the Coffee Maker, second only to oxygen in responsibility to keep me alive, and I will see it every time I get more of that most treasured beverage. Coffee to keep me alive; Word to keep me living.