Monday, November 5, 2012

Why I wake early

I don't really understand why my body is waking up at 4 am since we moved home.  I'm sure it does have something to do with changing from a pitch black bedroom cave with literally no light to sleeping in a space with three large windows and all kinds of beautiful life sounds from just outside them.  My entire system is trying to restore some rhythm to rest. More than the obvious spacial and physiological reasons I believe it has something to do with my long held pleasure of sneaking out of bed to be alone in the sacred moments before the rest of the world wakes.  I love reading and writing as I watch the gradual glow of the day appear.  I love holding the heavy mug of warmth in my hand, bowing head, closing eyes and making thanks while I dare to ask for more.  I had completely ended this ritual during the time living in the basement.  I dreaded getting out of bed.  I some days would never turn to His face.  It was too dark.  All the places you would easily look and listen for Him seemed shut off from me there.  I had no grandiose expectations about how things would change when we moved here just over a weeks ago.  I was sure the process of joy and healing would be slow and maybe even need some coaxing.  Instead I have been surprised by God over and over again in big and small ways how much of a difference this is already making for my family and I. 

Yes,  We are home.  We begged God for this.  You pleaded with us too.  Over and over we got on our knees and cried out for a place and provision to pay for it.  Have you ever been caught up in the marrow of exceeding, abundant Life? Have you ever been so aware of how little you deserve something and how much sweeter it becomes because it is pure Grace?  This house of wood and stone is just a shelter.  Dan and I both alternate between crying over the silliest things and shouting out to the girls randoom gratefulness and disbelief we made it here and also a true sense of how this place is on borrow.  We remind one another, "Don't worry but don't clutch either.  Just rest." 

Today I am thirty-seven years old.  I see God's plan for me unfolding just as it should.  I am surrounded by scandalous love.  I sit on the brink of telling the stories that now ooze from my pores.  The illustrations stay the same as the words wind from dark to light.  There is a home.  There is always a home.  There is a table of Grace.  I am never worthy, but I am always welcome.  I invite everyone I can to come and taste too.  We offer thanks over and over and talk of impossible things made suddenly real.  We gather around miracles born of love.  We drink cups that never run out of kindness.  The bread is always peace.  My meal is specially seasoned with a bitter taste of pain that becomes so familiar I begin to be grateful for it too. 

The house begins to stir, and my Danica is the first to come out and climb into my lap under blankets.  Her head smells like life.  Her soft warm body charges a special battery I need to get through my day.  She always tells me my snuffing in and out as I kiss her hair over and over smells like coffee.  She acts like it maybe bothers her, but I know it really comforts her.  She will come back to these moments and this smell and how it all felt as she grows.  This is home.

God, Thank you for this day.  Help us love it fully.  Thank you for this beautiful life.  Help us love You more.  Amen. 

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