Reclaiming Morning

I woke up before 5 this morning. I laid in bed, wide awake, until 5:05, debating with myself.

I could lay there and hope to fall asleep again for about an hour, but why? There was Mack, comfortably resting on my legs ... I hated to disturb him ... he'd been SO good all night -- hadn't awakened me once! -- but he'd get over it if I got out of bed.

Getting up early would also mean rustling around and potentially disturbing John's last hour of sleep ... but it didn't sound as if he was sleeping right now, anyway.

My body wanted to move, my mind was completely rested ... and I've been wanting to MOVE more, use my body, feel better. WHY was I arguing with myself!?!?

I got up. I gathered my walking shoes, and enough clothes to keep me warm in the 50-something temperature of early morning.

I got dressed and gathered my digital camera, key to the house, reading glasses (so I could see what I was taking pictures of) and cell phone, just in case.

Then I headed out the door.

Wow. I'm so glad I did.

By the time I hit the pavement, it was light out. There was just the right amount of chill in the air to make fast-walking feel really good.

There were rain puddles, with the sky and trees reflected in them.

There were neighbors walking their dogs, people leaving their homes for work already, and the fresh clean smell of the newly-washed day.

A song wove through my thoughts, "Morning has broken, like the first morning ... Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird ...."


I'm grateful for a great start to a day filled with energy and joy.






... for knowing my neighborhood well enough and long enough to have very clear memories of the person who planted the two maple trees in this front yard -- these are Ian's trees, and he's come a long way from the precocious pre-teen he was when he nursed the seedlings from "weeds" to "trees" ...










... and I'm grateful that I acted on the urge to take an evening walk, as well ... there's something reassuring and homey about living in a neighborhood where it feels safe to walk alone after dark. I'm grateful for that luxury, too.



This is what grace and abundance are all about.