He’s been waking earlier and earlier every morning, much like the sun this time of year. He wakes with a bright smile first thing in the morning, ready to greet the day and the adventures it will bring. I love that. If I’m to be honest though, I’ll tell you that there’s a part of me that wishes he’d sleep in just a bit longer. Part of me that wants just a few moments of quiet and alone time with the thoughts in my head.
I was always a morning person, ready to face the world from the moment my eyes opened, and I suppose that’s where he gets it from, but these days I seem to be neither a morning person nor a night owl, hovering somewhere in between in a twilight of sorts. Energy and clear thinking comes and goes like waves on the shore, but so much less predictable in rhythm and frequency. More than ever, I crave moments of complete quiet and I savor them. Though those moments are few and far between, I feel more able to meet the day’s challenges when I’ve had time to gather my own forces.
There are times when I feel the knocking presence of others trying to get my attention. The phone rings, emails ding, messages are instantly delivered, blogs are waiting to be read, and I feel so lost at the task of being present for others, whether their needs are great or small. I feel like I’m failing so many and the days pass by so quickly that I can barely catch my breath. Expectations pile high and my own wishes are placed somewhere at the bottom of the mountain, lost.
It all leaves me wondering if this technological world we’ve created is really for the best. Because while many things are now easier, they haven’t gotten any simpler. We’ve become stranded on an island without true connections. And, I wonder, is this what the pioneers felt when they left home and family and friends to journey west? They had a promise of a better life ahead – the potential fulfillment of a dream. What do we have? How many even have a dream to pursue? Without a dream is there any hope? My mind spins as I try to work out humanity’s trials and troubles through my own small experiences.
Then there’s this boy, my youngest of all. This precious child who wakes before I’m ready. This one who barely waits until I’ve even poured a cup of coffee let alone taken a first sip before asking for a book. Then he gathers two books, and sometimes three. We sit together on the sofa in the chill of the early morning, snuggled under a quilt together in the quiet of our still sleeping home, and we read together. He slips his hands into mine so I can hold them while we read. He snuggles his head against my neck. And sometimes, if we’ve woken far too early for us both, we’ll lay down on the sofa, still snuggling under the quilt, and one of us will doze off for a bit of catch up sleep. Upon waking for the second time, I gently try to pry myself off and away without disturbing him. If I do this very well, he’ll remain sleeping for a bit while I tend to the other children. My morning chance for any quiet disappears, but I’m left with this soft feeling of peace nonetheless, a gift from above for a weary and tired mama. The blessings outweigh the burdens again and balance is restored.