There's this cool stillness in the morning... when you can hear the delivery trucks on Victory Drive and the air isn't sticky. You haven't even written your To Do list, so you haven't even thought about how much to worry. Failing to cross things the list off isn't even a possibility yet. Everything is still and new and you haven't f;ed anything up yet.
There's this ritual where you make the coffee. Counting scoops in your head. And it has just begun to bubble with that perfect smell that promises new life... but it hasn't gone cold or bitter from the 6th reheating in the microwave. So basically all is right with the world.
There's clarity and possibility and tranquility and second chances.... and then everyone wakes up.
There's this thing called Life. It isn't full of peace and devoid of mess.
It isn't free of war or short on ass holes.
It isn't bliss. It's just not. Bliss is single life... when you're 10.
But this is our ridiculous, tumultuous place.
Everything was charming... and then you woke up.
Your shit storm isn't even an actual shit storm. It's called Having a Pulse. Welcome home.
AND HOLLA!!! There's so much freedom in recognizing that mess doesn't equal wrong. That tumult doesn't signal failure.
There's freedom in knowing that conflict doesn't tell us that relationship has failed, but that relationships are happening.
There's joy and hope in believing that disagreement doesn't mean we've failed to harmonize, but that we care about getting there...
There's blessing in believing that unsteady knees don't indicate that you're too weak to walk, but remind you that you've been struggling and busting it on a difficult climb.
There's this super power that we can all have... called grace. There are these eyes that look at mess without judgement, but also not lacking in aspirational hope.
..... Quiet mornings remind me of two things:
1) That our beings were made for peace.
2) And that peace is so not real life... but the longing for it IS.
I'm reminded that crazy is not an alien experience. It's the texture of life. We should be at home here... but also we will always be homeless in it.
Something better calls to us with a deep seated longing to "put it right." We are peace seekers.... (yes, even the war-like uber-conservatives and the whiney uber-liberals!) We want to put it right and have harmony. We believe that's our true home. We want to live in the peace of the cool early morning. But we can't run from the fight. If peace is our home, the struggle is our true journey.
Quiet mornings call to me...
Don't grieve the reality of the journey. Don't loath the impending waking up of the Minions. The struggle matters. The struggle is not a failure to have the goal, but a persistent belief that there is a goal and that we will get there.
Don't give up on the true promise of Better. Don't disbelieve in the hope of peace.
Rest for a moment, warrior. Then get back in the fray.
Take heart. I have overcome.