Can I just say I love mornings? I love them so much, I sometimes consider getting up at 3 AM just to have a longer one. But that’s a little over the top, isn’t it? There is just something about waking up to a new day. The quiet, stillness of the morning shouts of God’s compassion and mercy. I bet if a doctor took my blood pressure in the morning, it would be wonderfully low.
Mornings are quiet. I wake up with no alarm, because I despise alarms. I reach under my bed and grab my Bible and my journal and I meet with God. I lay down all my praises and burdens and struggles and requests and through the process, I feel like a new creation. And after my quiet time, I write. I make tea, I grab a bowl of cereal (unless my husband decides to make me oatmeal with blueberries… yummm), and sit in front of my computer and write. Mornings are a very spiritual time for me. I have no problem being a Godly person in the morning… before the day starts.
But the day always has to start, doesn’t it? And then I just plummet off a cliff. I go from seeking God, to seeking myself. My checklist, my desires, my impatience with others, my way, my feelings, my time…. ugh. I despise selfishness. It is this little mustard seed inside me, waiting to take root and grow and grow until I’m trapped so far inside the branches of it that I can’t look outside myself. Being a mother really changes things. Because I think a lot about Brogan, and what kind of message I’m sending to him. Words mean nothing when our actions don’t back them up. I might tell him not to be selfish, but when he gets older, what will he see in me? A selfish mother? I hope not.
In the writing world, we call our current projects WIP’s, which means “work in progress”. Lately I’ve been contemplating buying a shirt with WIP on the front. I am most definitely a work in progress. I want my mornings to spill over into my days. God has blessed me so abundantly. A family, a home, a church, a job, a hope, a gift and a passion for writing Christian fiction. What kind of servant am I being if I don’t pour out these blessings to others?
My heart’s cry is this: May my life be an offering…
Question to ponder: If you were to wear a sign or a shirt that would identify you in one or two words, what would it say?