Mornings. I'm out to claim mine as a gift. Give me a good night's rest, yes, and then wake me with the sun.
The day holds many things as a mother. Awake with the moon and a suckling babe, I lie in bed in the dark most nights and pray for things. Usually a really enthusiastic request for more sleep, followed by fervent pleas for salvation and health over my girls. Sometimes the prayers go deeper, most times I'm asleep again before they are finished, morning slamming into me with toddler requests and the mess begins.
I've been thinking a lot on time. How quickly it goes. How it feels like just yesterday I was swing dancing late into the work night, now I'm home with two. A moment has passed, and also a lifetime. At the end of my days, if I get the gift of growing old, I hope that I'll see that these minutes weren't wasted. There is room for slow and quiet, and I can't let this time pass as hurried.
Mornings. I'm out to awaken with mindfulness, creating rituals that feel like home. Before I take care of my little babes, I have to make room to care for me. I've gotten by with those middle of the night prayers, but the Lord is drawing me closer, making me more aware of the free time that I have to grow on my own. Awake before my little ones, ready to rise and prepare my heart for the motherhood, wifehood, life giving day.
Hoping it will start looking like a well brewed cup of coffee with raw cream, maybe a coconut tea on the hotter days. A chapter in a non fiction book, maybe something that teaches me how to care for the house or an encouraging bit on raising toddlers. A passage from the Bible with a few notes on how to apply it for the day. Perhaps a start on breakfast because my young eldest awakens with a hungry belly before she even opens her eyes.
Mornings. We've got to start getting them back on our side. They're the freshest part of the day, after all.