I awoke early, in the dark, to a dusting of snow on the ground, the sliver of a moon shining brightly. It was a glorious awakening. As I sat down with a steaming hot cup, facing East, the grandeur of Mt Baker already being illuminated by the dawn’s earliest light.
Ahhh! A smile spread across my face.
I inhaled peace, hope, joy …
Joy.
Exhale …
Joy comes in the morning.
Words of comfort by the Psalmist (30:5).
And it occurred to me that every morning is not so glorious. I mean, would joy come when it’s dark, starless and pouring rain for the fifteenth day in a row? I know how I would greet such a morning and it wouldn’t be feeling peace, hope or joy. I would scowl, turn my back to the firmament.
Maybe it, maybe this joy that comes in the morning (after a night of weeping) is dependent not on who offers it, but how willing I am to receive it? How willing I am to greet the day as a blank slate, as gift like a wrapped box with a golden bow, held out to me by the God of the universe, the God who created all things. And all I have to do it stop wiping the tears of the night before and hold out my hands to receive it … to receive the joy that is there regardless of my mood, my feelings, my perspective regarding rain.
Joy … it’s there in the morning.
itsawonderfilledlife 