I am staring at the blinking cursor on what used to be a empty screen, that I actually prefer to think of as a blank piece of paper. It thrills me to think of the possibilities. I like to imagine that what I am about to say could potentialy, even in the smallest sense, change someones life. Perhaps what I am about to write willl cause a certain inward sigh or nod that means, oh I can relate to what you are saying , you just put words to my feelings… or, happy thought, maybe even cause the release of a stray giggle …better still, the slow lingering smile…the kind that goes genuinely unnoticed, but only to yourself.
It’s 5:50 am. Sadly, I can count on one hand the amount of times I have had a load of laundry going, clean hair, two gifts wrapped and outfits for the three of us laid out and ready to wear to church, by this time of the morning. Even as I congradulate my self for being so well organized and ahead of schedule, I have to laugh becuase I know that after planning so far ahead we’ll still end up being 5-10 minutes late for church, on account of the fact that the first outfit laying on the bed, ironed and ready is not the one I am wearing (((( 6 outfits later )))), or is it?
The birds outside our bedroom window woke me up this morning. Well technically Annabelle woke me up, the birds just kept me awake. I wish you could hear them. They sound so completely, and unashamedly happy. The singing in the shower at the top of your lungs because with the – door shut, water running and fan going you don’t think anyone can here you, kind of happy. Only melodious. Perfect. This must be their favorite time of the day. A time of day, I am observing that is owned by a mysterious gray mist albeit only for a short moment, as the early morning sunlight is now gradualy overtaking it. It’s so peaceful. What I miss by always sleeping through these early morning hours…
I just tip-toed into the bedroom to check on my little family. Both soundly asleep. There heads are almost together, and both facing the same direction, tilted at a similar angle. Their faces mirror eachothers…It’s like seeing the same face twice, only Annabelle’s of course on a much smaller scale. She is laying next to him on the bed with her arms sprawled out above her head, one of her tiny hands, securely covered by his rugged and workworn one. Never in my life have I ever seen anything so beautiful. So beautiful it hurts.
Such are the small glories of a early Sunday morning.