There is something about the morning.
Something about rising early-
House still wrapped in dark quiet, blanketed in peace-
And sitting on a couch, spending the first hour or so of your morning with the creator.
There's something so... exquisitely beautiful, inexpressibly precious about this time.
What is it that pervades these gentle moments of peace and reflection?
Of learning, of memorization, of prayer, of praise.
What is it that hangs over me as I get up from my Bible,
Go through the motions:
Put In Egg,
Turn off water,
Egg in cup,
Toast on Plate,
Tea in mug,
My mind pauses abruptly at this sensation; a slow smile spreads across my face.
I savor each bite, explore the taste, the textures.
The process of cracking the egg, of delicately spooning it out of its porcelain shell and eating it. Of daintily munching my toast.
What a rare happening this is for me!
I explore the sensation that so rarely surrounds a mealtime for me.
And with another jolt, I realize something: in between reading my Bible, making breakfast, and eating, there has been one prominent emotion, one feeling, one thought, that hasn't altered in the least save to grow stronger as the morning has worn on.
I probe this feeling, turn up to heaven questioningly, begging the source to reveal what it is, and how it came to be.
Musing, I clear my dishes, pull out my knitting, and meditatively click merrily away with my needles: silver and blue fibers flashing up and down, in and out, as I go.
This feeling, of illimitable joy...but not joy alone.
A looking forward, paired with a fond glance back.
A resolution, a strength- not mighty, but merely sturdy.
This feeling is hope.
The needles stop.
I glance up once again.
"Be of good courage and He shall strengthen your heart, all ye that hope in the Lord."
Another prayer: a thank-you.
I rest my needles, pull out my notebook,