It started with coffee (doesn't everything good start with coffee?) Breathing in the purifying aroma of fresh ground beans...for coffee lovers, nuff said.
Then, slippers on, coffee at my side, I sat in the hushed quiet of my still sleeping house and spent time with my God. My God. Because in those moments of solitary communion that is exactly what he is. He is mine, and I am his. I belong to him completely and he is available to me with an infinite exclusion. What an amazing and beautiful gift we have been given. I am filled with thick emotion in just remembering. Awesome.
And then I just sat. Listened. Listened to the waking world outside my door. Listened to the quiet inside. I was aware. It seems like such a simple state to be in. Strangely and to my detriment, I am not in it enough. I am so hurried, worried, rushed and busy that I forget to be still, to listen, to feel, to breathe.
And so, with new awareness, I filled my dishpan with water so hot the steam curled up into the cool air of the kitchen bringing with it the soft scent of lavender and clean. I washed up the few dishes left over from last nights snacks, looking out my kitchen window to my little urban farmyard. A thick sleepy fog muted the world, but my chickens paid no attention. They were busy about their work, scratching and pecking along the little path of hay I had made for them the day before. There is just something so whole and natural about chickens. Something peaceful and real that comforts and grounds me.
I'm sure it's partly because of their simplicity. Their unplugged, non-CNN, off the grid loveliness. I think it's also something borrowed from yesterday. That retro comfort that I find wrapped up in the strings of vintage aprons.
Now morning is turning to noon, and with each hour, the intensity of the day increases. I am going to try to carry with me, everywhere I go, the peace I found this morning.