Wake, caffeinate, feed, clothe, clean, teach, drive, feed, clothe, clean, drive, caffeinate, feed, clean, bed.
Every day it’s the same old thing. I can feel the futility before my eyes open in the morning, a cloudy fog of despair blanketing my head , tripping my feet before they hit the floor.
Hooray, I rise again to greet another day of motherhood. The alarm clock across the room propels me forward by the sheer force of annoyance — make it stop! Now up and halfway to the bathroom, I may as well stagger onward.
You are probably nothing like me in the morning. You are probably more like my daughter, rising radiant and beautiful from your bed to greet your animal friends and family members with a smile on your face and song in your heart, like a Disney princess alive in all her annoying glory.
If so, stay away from me until I’ve downed my second mug.
Rather than force myself into spirituality, fitness, and domestic serenity immediately every morning, I’ve started a new morning routine.
Be there. That is all.
I awake in the bathroom about fifteen minutes after having staggered there, then grope my way downstairs, pour a cup of coffee, and go sit. Sometimes with a blanket, usually outside. But there’s no todo list, no devotions (yet), no exercise (yet), and probably no journaling (unless my brain is exploding something out).
I just sit, sip, and take deep breaths.
At least one of my younger boys has risen already and is waiting. The youngest reading, the middle child just thinking. So we sit, watching the sun rise over the neighbor’s crepe myrtles and listen to the birds calling.
We murmur random thoughts, imaginings and plans for the new day ahead. Someone shares a weird dream. My oldest walks by to give me a hug before leaving for work. That frustratingly beautiful and cheerful daughter bounces into the kitchen to bake breakfast rolls. The handsome bank president strides through the house, gives each a firm kiss and advice for the day’s tasks before driving off.
All while I sit and sip.
And a couple hours and a complete pot of coffee later, the fog of despair has burned off in the hot Texas morning leaving clarity and purpose.
This is a glorious day.
I don’t see it in the wee hours. I don’t feel it in my stiff arthritic joints. I don’t catch it in the morning rush.
But it is a glorious day — another day the ordinary routine becomes the extraordinary moments in the lives of my loved ones.
The ordinary has always meant to be extraordinary. It’s why God commanded the parents to answer “why is this different from any other day” with God’s extraordinary truths of salvation, provision, and sacrifice.
Today is extraordinary because God gave it, God ordained it, God sustains it, and God blesses it. Each and every ordinary hug and kiss, chore and dinner, lesson and worksheet, job and paycheck are extraordinary moments from God’s hands.