The warmth of the sunbeams are in sharp contrast to the cool air that strokes my freckled skin. Wisps of golden hairs shimmer in the light as they tickle my nose and cheeks, ruffled by the breeze. The taste of sweet black coffee is still fuzzy on my tongue. The smoky smell of bacon tempts my growling stomach as it wafts from a neighbor’s home. As morning continues to break the sky wide open in light and white and blues, the world awakens and stirs to the orchestration of birds and bugs. My pen, firm in my hand, glides against the smooth paper, forever documenting the ordinary and the glory and the awe of the moment.
There is something about morning that makes my soul sing and my heart break wide open. I am so grateful for these mornings when I am able to rise before the rest of the household and take in the beauty of the sunrise. I am thankful for another day, for the opportunity to try, once again, to be a mom, a wife, worthy of the gift of my family. This moment in time is a grace-filled second of fullness and forgiveness, and I am humbled by its intensity.