Here, in the morning, in this moment, there is just me. Here there are the flowers he brought home last night just because. Here the morning light fills the room and my feet are warmed from the sun baked floor, even this early in the morning. Here there is always room for coffee and my cup, this cup that a friend gave, is never wanting. Here the soft leather cover of my Bible and the fresh pages of Common Prayer call me, bringing up no mention that I forgot them yesterday and the day before.
Here there are no shoulda’s or woulda’s. Here there is no judgment or guilt. Here in this moment I’m just me, a child of God, needing only Him.
But as quickly as Here entered this space, it starts to disappear. I’m not very good at holding on to Here.
Soon the sun that shines in betrays the crumbs left on the floor last night, brightly highlighting them throughout the room. My phone beeps full of emails from teachers calling in for Sunday’s service and needing replacements that I just don’t have. I glance at my mug and remember how I forgot to check on my dear friend who just moved – what kind of friend am I? And soon I hear the sound of the girls running down the hall for breakfast as I glance at my Bible, feeling it stare at me, whispering to me that it really didn’t expect that I’d read it today either…..Here is gone.
So I make a new here and try again. I hug my girls tight, here in the kitchen, whispering to them how proud I am that they spent the whole night in their big girl beds. And I feed them here at our table, listening to their dreams of fairies and Jesus. And I clean them up and put on their favorite cartoon as I tip toe out of the room, Bible and pen in hand to read and to write and to take five minutes here.