Between waking and the world

The first calls are the crickets, the peepers–their piercing chirps blended into a low hum–a backdrop of a day about to begin. Bird calls pierce the dark, first violins before the symphony of the day. The sun won’t appear for close to an hour but the sky to the east shows a faint light of anticipation. The tree tops are silhouettes cast on a glowing canvas. The coffeemaker beeps, 3 sharp alarms in the sleepy house. The computer sings with its waking.

Morning has always felt full to me. What does this day hold? I did not realize until recently the Grace in this hopeful anticipation. The gift of waking in wonder.

And these days I work to hold tight to it. My radio used to wake me–gentle voices of NPR hosts sharing news of the day. Now I wait. My arm drapes over the side of the bed, unplugging my phone, and brightens to show a message waiting from my dear husband, seven time zones away. I read his message, feeling as much connection as a phone can offer, and smile. The first smile of the day. I no longer go on to check news sources before my feet hit the floor.

Instead, carried by the hum of the sleepy night’s remnants and bird call alarms, I take time to remember who I am before becoming who I am in the world.

The news is there. It’s always there. And I’ll check it soon. But for a brief moment I choose to live in this quiet hopeful space between waking and the world.